As We Do Everything
by WhimsicalWriter4
Summary: Bellamy Blake has committed a crime and must be punished. How will he, Clarke, and the Hundred deal with this new threat and its implied separation between the Hundred and the Arkadians? After everything they've been through, can they really take another blow? Can Bellamy?
1. Chapter 1

Clark stared the guard down. No way was he stopping her from going through the gate. She was the mighty Wanheda, the—

"Princess?"

The Princess of the Hundred, apparently still a thing, at least to the few people who got away with that nickname without being thrown to the Mountain Men for lunch. That few being one.

"Let me pass," she said again.

"No one is to speak to the prisoner."

Clarke sighed. "Firstly, he's not dangerous. Second, I'm Wanheda, so you should fear me. And lastly, Kane said I could speak to him, and since Kane and my mother are a thing, and Kane's Chancellor…you probably don't want to cross me."

The soldier wasn't buying it. Any other day, and Clarke would have appreciated his loyalty. But this was today, _not_ any other day. A radio call to Kane finally did the convincing and Clarke was allowed to enter the prison cell.

Bellamy met her at the door. "What are you doing, Princess?" He sounded wary, untrusting. Hadn't they finally gotten beyond all that?

"I came here to talk to you."

He sighed and turned away. "If you're here about the Hundred splitting from Camp Arkadia, I'm a bit tied up at the moment. Maybe we can talk later?"

Clarke stomped her foot angrily. Bellamy turned to face her, an amused expression on his face. "I always said the Princess had a temper."

"Enough, Bellamy," Clarke snapped. "Stop it. Just stop. I can't keep doing this, and we don't need to."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Pretending nothing is wrong! That everything is fine!"

"Generally speaking, everything being fine is the definition of nothing being wrong," Bellamy supplied helpfully.

Clarke let out an animal-like growl of frustration and reached out to slap him.

Bellamy caught her hand, holding it between the two of them. Her hand shook with anger; his hand shook with fear. "I'm not pretending," he assured her. "Not around you."

"So can you drop the tough guy act and talk to me? We don't have much time."

"What makes you think it's an act?"

"I know you."

Three simple words deflated his entire demeanor. His shoulders slumped, head suddenly became heavy, and their hands dropped. "I know."

"Nobody else knows. Not the same things, not the same way."

"I know you too, Princess."

The words, spoken so softly, with defeat, but form the heart—they brought unwanted tears to her eyes.

"You're scared."

"So are you, Rebel King."

"Yes. Did you expect me not to be?"

"I want you to admit it to yourself, not just me."

"I did."

"Out loud, Bellamy."

"What do you want from me, Clarke? You want me to say the words? Fine, here you go: I'm scared. Actually, I'm terrified. I have no say, no power, no freedom, and it scares the heck out of me. Happy now, Princess?"

She wasn't, not at all. As Bellamy spoke, she watched his walls crumble. He sat on an overturned crate, apparently unable to stand. Shaking hands clasped together, elbows on his knees, his head hung and he stared at the floor, defeated.

"No," Clarke said quietly. "No, I'm not happy. I'm angry."

Bellamy looked up to watch her face harden into that all-too-familiar expression. He was too tired to muster what Clarke called the Stubborn Selfless Hero. "Clarke," he drawled gently. He could tell this was taking a toll on her. It wasn't supposed to. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his Princess more.

"Don't 'Clarke' me," she snarled, on a role now.

He put his hands up in surrender but made one last feeble attempt," It's your na…" Her glare silenced him.

"Nothing about this is ok," she continued. "It's not like you killed someone."

"I have, Clarke." Subdued, regretful, broken.

"But this isn't about that."

"I know that. But maybe it should be."

And Clarke didn't point out that he'd lost enough when Lincoln died, and Octavia left, and his mentor tried to kill him, and he had to kill hundreds of innocents, and half his "children" were slaughtered in horrible ways, and Finn was killed after he gave him a gun. He knew all that already. "I talked to Kane," she said instead.

"Clarke, I told you to stay out of this." Exasperated, meeting her gaze now, hands out in a frustrated gesture.

"I can't, ok? Not when Kane thinks he can have you shock lashed for something so small."

"It wasn't small, Clarke. And he can."

"Why do you keep saying my name?" Angry, but with nowhere to direct it.

"Because it sounds nice," he confessed. "Because I'm just glad to have you here, in front of me, to say it to." Because she'd left him, he wanted to add, but they'd worked that out weeks ago and he'd cried and basically been a total wuss.

"Kane says you were right," Clarke pressed on, not sure what else to say. "But he also says crime can't be ignored, or we'll have a rebellion. He think she Rebel King is a symbol, thus a good example."

"Lucky me. A symbol."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

"When all this is over, we're taking the kids and founding our own camp."

"I'll be right beside you."

He gave her a rare grateful smile. "Why are you here, Clarke? To tell me there's no hope?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"I tried to talk Kane out of it," she said instead. "He wouldn't listen."

"Look, I appreciate you trying to help, but if you're not careful I could end up with worse," he cautioned. Realistically, he usually did when it came to the Princess. HE could handle it, but he wasn't about to seek it out.

"Then I went to the med bay to see if there was something I could drug you with. What? I'd make sure it was undetectable."

"You could be caught," he nearly snarled.

"It's worth the risk, ok?" She watched his entire expression soften and those deep brown eyes melt.

"No, Princess, it's not," he corrected quietly. "Not to me."

Clarke was stunned into silence. Then, tentatively, "I was wrong. Sending you into Mount Weather wasn't worth the risk either."

"It was the right decision."

"Was it?"

"It was the only option."

"I just, I don't know anymore."

He gave a joyless chuckle. "Yeah? Welcome to earth, Princess."

She flinched, and he wanted to apologize for his words, but he couldn't, because he knew they were right. "Killing is bad," he said at last. Killing innocents is worse. That we do know."

"Knowing and doing are so different down here."

She sounded like she might cry.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! So I don't want to be the person always requesting reviews, but I want you to know that I do read them, and I do value them, whether it's an encouraging comment or constructive criticism (both are greatly appreciated). Thank you for your reviews, and I hope you enjoy the story!

* * *

"So the med bay. Did your mom catch you?"

"No, she was busy. I couldn't find anything anyway."

"Wouldn't have taken it," he said stubbornly.

"I know. But I wanted to be able to offer it."

Bellamy nodded. He understood that.

"Did Kane tell you anything? About the punishment, I mean."

Head down again, a muffled, "No."

"It's standard punishment for your crime and status," Clarke reported, hiding her emotion behind the facts. "Public shock lashing, obviously with no shirt, what with the safety hazards and all."

And Bellamy didn't tease her about seeing him shirtless, or point out that a shock lashing wasn't very safe anyway, shirt or no. All he did was choke out, "How many?"

"Till you loose consciousness."

Bellamy swore, startling Clarke, who jumped slightly. They both knew he had a high pain tolerance.

"Please don't fight," Clarke whispered.

He looked up, confused.

"Don't try to be strong for the kids or to make a point. If it hurts, let it hurt. You'll pass out sooner."

A nod, but no words.

Clarke crossed the room, knelt in front of him. Bellamy met her gaze when he felt her hands take his. "Bellamy."

"Yes, Princess?" There was no smirk, no snark. She was his Princess, simple as that. Just this once, he wouldn't pretend differently.

"All this, them choosing you and not someone else, the kids, the negotiations…." In a voice barely loud enough to hear, she confessed, "I'm scared."

His sigh was long and slow. "I am too, Clarke. I am too."

She leaned toward him then, almost as though the weight of the world was too much for her to stay upright. Bellamy raised their hands so he caught her, and with his hands cradling her face, her hands on his wrists, they sat silently. Slowly, Bellamy bent his head so their foreheads rested on one another. Then, silence.

"To be with you" Clarke said at last.

"What?"

"You asked why I was here. I'm here to be with you, because I didn't want you to have to be alone."

"Thank you."

Clarke lifted her head and saw the tears in Bellamy's eyes. She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down so it rested on her shoulder. Her shirt quickly became wet with tears.

Clarke held him while he cried.

And Bellamy cried, not for what was about to happen, but for what had. For the lives lost—and the ones he, _they_ , had taken. For his sister, alone and broken, wandering the earth. For Finn and Maya and all the other dead. For Jasper and Raven and all the broken.

For him and Clarke and all they'd done, and all they hadn't.

The guard banged on the door, reminding them they were in a cell. "Kane's on his way down."

Bellamy sat up and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Time to face the world," Clarke murmured.

Bellamy couldn't respond. He just sat there, swallowing his sobs and blinking back tears.

"We'll do it like we always do, Bel," Clarke promised, reaching up to wipe at his tears with her sleeve.

He raised his eyes to hers, waiting.

"Together."

He gave her a trembling smile.

"I'll stand by my Rebel King."

"And I'll stand in front of you, Princess."


	3. Chapter 3

Voices came from outside the door.

"Sir!"

"At ease, soldier. How's the prisoner?"

"Still with his visitor. She said it was alright?"

"It's fine, I was informed. Why don't you head outside to make sure the preparations are complete?"

"But the prisoner—"

"He'll be fine. Miss Griffin and I can handle him."

"Yes sir."

Footsteps.

Metal hit metal. "Bellamy Blake?"

Bellamy couldn't move.

"Can we have a minute?" Clarke requested.

"One," Kane conceded.

"Bellamy," Clarke said softly.

"Clarke," he cut her off, "c-can you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"I don't want to go to med bay," he revealed. "I just want my tent. Promise me you won't let them take me there."

"I promise."

"And Clarke?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want anyone else there."

"But it's pub—"

"After. No one else after. You don't need anyone, do you?"

"No, I don't think so. But don't you want—"

"I only want you. I trust you. And the others, they can't see me like that."

"Ok."

"Promise. No med bay, no people."

"A doctor?"

"You're a doctor."

"Not really. I never completed my training."

"Clarke." Long, drawn out, desperate.

"I promise." She stood and held out her hand to him. "Now stand and face this like the hero you are."

"We both know I'm no hero, Princess." But he took her hand and stood just the same.

"You saved my life, and heroes always save the princess. A princess wouldn't allow anything less."

"For you, then, Princess," he said, bowing low.

And Clarke watched him stand before the steel bars, ready to take a punishment that rightfully belonged to them both. There was nothing to gain by outing his accomplice, he'd insisted, right before spinning a confession that left no room for Clarke. Nothing at all to be gained.

And Bellamy wasn't just her Rebel King anymore. He really was her hero.


	4. Chapter 4

It was no less brutal than they'd expected it to be, but not at all humiliating like it had been intended. Even Kane, if put on the spot, would have admitted Bellamy was more of a heroic martyr than a punished criminal.

Clarke had given orders that the Hundred not rebel, not raise a finger, that she and their Rebel King had it covered. So they stood together, behind their princess, to witness the punishment inflicted on one of their own. Wick held Raven back, and even Murphy looked ready to interfere.

But no one dared step in front of Clarke.

Abby Griffin wielded the shock lash, not because she wanted to, but because Kane thought it the best way to avoid serious injury. Her face, like that of the Chancellor, was blank.

"And so, Bellamy Blake, the punishment for your crime is shock lashing," Kane concluded. "Are you wrongfully accused?"

Bellamy looked directly at Kane and responded, "I am not."

"And you accept your punishment?"

"I accept whatever the law requires."

"Very well. Begin."

Poor Bellamy, he tried so hard to stand tall, his arms stretched wide by the restraints, torso bared for all to see. But when the lash touched his back, his body convulsed, his mouth opened for an agonized scream, and he had no say, no power, no freedom.

And before the entire camp, while Bellamy Blake screamed, the Princess wept.

* * *

Hey guys. If you're feeling like this chapter is a little anti-climatic, and you wanted more dialogue, let me know (as with any chapter). Given time, I'll try to elaborate/add a bit more for you folks.


	5. Chapter 5

"I want Jasper and Monty," Clarke insisted.

"I can lend you soldiers," Kane objected. "He's paid for his crimes and is no longer an enemy of Camp Arkadia."

"I don't care about your dotted I's, crossed T's, and legal red tape," Clarke spat. "He never was an enemy, and he isn't now. I'm a doctor, and a leader, and my people are going to take care of their king."

"There is no us and you, Clarke," Kane said gently. "We're all one now. You can relax and let us handle things."

"Oh really? Then explain _that_." She pointed at the limp unconscious Bellamy Blake.

"He committed a crime and was punished accordingly."

"That's bull and we both know it," she snarled. "He did something for his people because you wouldn't. And in case you've forgotten, we went through an awful lot on earth before you even showed up. So leave me alone, and let me take care of my people."

Kane gestured to his men to step down. When Abby tried to help, he gently grasped her arm, holding her back. Clarke needed to do this, and she could, so they'd best let her.

Clarke knew they were humoring her, but she hoped by the time they figured out she knew, the Hundred would be gone.

So while Kane, Abby, and the other Arkadians watched in silence, Clarke directed the careful removal of Bellamy's body to his tent, where she shut everyone out, even his friends.

Then while Clarke worked in eerie silence, Raven and the others quietly spread the word.

By the time Bellamy Blake could walk, the Hundred would be ready to follow.


	6. Chapter 5 and 1 half

Happy Sunday! Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. This chapter is an attempt to explain the plot holes a few of you have kindly pointed out (thank you for that! I really do appreciate it!). Unfortunately I was already struggling to capture Clarke and Bellamy's voices, so I can't promise that these guys will be properly done. But I tried. A Sunday gift from me to you. Enjoy!

* * *

"Clarke? Clarke!"

Clarke looked up from where she'd been stacking stuff in a corner on top of a crate. Bellamy's tent was the bachelor mess she'd expected it to be, and at the moment, there was nothing to do but wait. "What?" she called back as she moved for the tent flap.

Whoever was outside beat her to it. Raven. Figured. "Clarke, there are some of us outside, and we need to ta—damn. That looks bad."

"Out!" Clarke chased her, waving her arms. "Out, out! Nobody comes in here."

"Clarke, we just need to talk." Jasper, still outside.

"Is he ok? He looks horrible," Raven worried as she let Clarke push her out between the swinging tent flaps acting as a door.

Clarke came to a stop in front of the flaps, holding them closed behind her. "You need to stay out, all of you."

"We just want to talk, Clarke," Monty coaxed.

"Clarke," Raven prompted. "Is he?"

"No, he's not ok!" Clarke exploded. "Do you honestly think he would be?" The she shut her mouth, lips tightly pressed together, and silently took in the group in front of her.

"Hey, Clarke, we're not here to argue with you," Monty tried to calm her down.

"Yes we are," Jasper countered.

Clarke turned to face him. Part of her was ready to take on anything Jasper could say to her about killing hundreds of innocents or letting Bellamy suffer. Another part, a very small part, reminded her that it had been a very long two days, and she had a miserable patient behind her, and she'd just watched her rock, her Rebel King, get beaten, and she really just wanted to be alone. Bellamy had gotten to cry, hadn't he? Well it was her turn.

"Actually we are," Raven agreed. "No one else wanted to cross you and Bellamy, so we took it upon ourselves."

"Honestly, I wasn't going to cross Bellamy," Miller finally spoke up. "But I figured he wouldn't be doing much arguing right now, so I followed for moral support."

Clarke just stared. She was too tired to understand what they were implying. "No one in the tent," she repeated.

"We _know_ , and honestly, we'd rather not," Monty assured her.

"Why did you do that to him?" Jasper demanded, pointing to the tent. "What the hell were you thinking?! We were all ready to fight for him, for both of you, but _no_ , the mighty 'Wanheda' says to stand our ground and just _let_ our leader be stripped and beaten for something that isn't even a crime. Haven't you hurt him enough already?!"

Clarke took a deep trembling breath. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I have."

The tone of her voice was so startling. They'd all expected something louder, firmer, a scolding perhaps. Not a confession.

"You're right, Jasper," Clarke continued, her voice gaining strength now. "I have hurt him enough, and so has Octavia, and all of you. But what he, _we_ , did was against the law."

"Well the law is stupid," Raven spat.

"In this case, it is," Clarke agreed calmly. "But it's Kane's only way to control the masses, and honestly, if everyone ran around breaking the law and 'doing whatever the hell they want', well then, we'd be right back to where we started, wouldn't we?"

Jasper, Monty, and Miller nodded silently. They remembered Bellamy's one rule from the beginning days so long ago. That had resulted in chaos, and something had changed, because the next thing they knew, Bellamy and Clarke had been grudgingly making rules together and enforcing them.

"So I respect Kane's need to have laws, and so does Bellamy. But the laws he has, they aren't in the best interest of the Hundred. That's why we're leaving."

"Sure, whatever Clarke. Laws are important, and Kane's a leader and whatever. But that doesn't make it necessary to shock the crap out of Bellamy," Raven insisted, not ready to give up. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not a big fan of the guy, but he's one of us, and he didn't deserve that."

"He did though," Clarke said quietly. "He knew what he was doing, and he knew the consequences, but he did it anyway. Justice demanded that he be punished." Her too, but Bellamy had made sure that justice didn't catch up with her—yet. She dreaded the day when it finally would. She could only hope he'd be there for her. "Mercy says he shouldn't have been punished, but Kane had other things on his mind. He needed to show the Hundred that we need to follow the rules, he needed to show that he's serious about the rules, and he needed to avoid rebellion."

"He almost started one," Raven snarled. "You're the reason we didn't fight back."

"Bellamy and I discussed our options," Clarke interrupted.

"Oh, you 'discussed' them," Raven mocked. "Why is this a monarchy? Why not a democracy where _we_ have a say too?"

"Because they're the King and Princess," Monty said simply. "Because they keep us alive."

"We're outnumbered and outgunned. It was either punish one of us or punish all of us, probably with something much worse," Clarke struggled to explain. "Both of us understood Kane's motivation, even if we disagreed. We also knew that if we rebelled, we wouldn't be able to leave. They'd find out about our preparations and stop us."

"We could have gotten the guns," Jasper objected. "We could have saved him. That wasn't necessary. Why do you let people suffer when it's not necessary, Clarke?"

"I didn't want him to suffer!" Clarke screamed at them, finally losing it. "If we rebelled, we would have been punished, or weakened. If we were weakened, we wouldn't have a chance at surviving out there again. We needed the time, and Bellamy bought it for us. The best way to deal with this is to make sure his sacrifice isn't wasted."

"Clarke," Raven began.

"No! Just, no. I have a patient who needs to be tended to, and you have jobs that need to be done before we lose what little advantage Bellamy gained us. Right now it looks like we're weak, ready to submit to Kane as our leader, and able to work without supervision. Don't waste that. It's invaluable, and it was bought at a far higher price than you could ever understand."

Then Clarke turned on her heel and strode into the tent, leaving the four standing outside, staring, stunned. Bellamy had done far more than commit a petty crime in favor of the Hundred. He'd bought them a chance at freedom.

Inside the tent, Clarke collapsed by the single cot and cried silently.


	7. Chapter 6

The first time he woke, it was with a half-conscious request for Octavia. He muttered something about "my responsibility" before going limp once more.

Clarke worked quickly. She cooled his feverish body with rags soaked in rain water. She applied a plant salve to the vicious burns on his back. She traced a scar on his collarbone, unable to remember where it had come from. She apologized for leaving.

The next time Bellamy woke, it was with a helpless whimper. Clarke hurriedly gave him water, forced him to drink. When he moved to sit up, he lapsed into unconsciousness once more.

Those were the good hours, when Clarke could work in peace and Bellamy could sleep through the pain.

They were followed by the bad hours, when he burned with fever and couldn't' escape the pain by sleep. Sometimes he would lie there and whimper, other times he would actually cry out. Clarke would give him a piece of wood to bite on and speak softly to him, smoothing back his sweat-slick hair, doing her best to distract him. And whenever he was strong enough to ask, he always received the same answer: his tent, and no one but Clarke.

Those hours turned into days, and the days were long and hard, and the Hundred didn't like the waiting or the listening, but they were not idle. They would be ready.


	8. Chapter 6 Part 2

"Clarke?"

Clarke dropped the bowl of salve she'd been mixing and spun around. "Bellamy," she whispered, a pained smile all she could manage. "Hey. How're you feeling?"

"Like crap," he managed from where he lay on his stomach. "Who—"

"Just us, Bell," Clarke assured him, crossing the room and kneeling next to the cot. "Just like the hundreds of other times you asked. Nobody's been in here."

"I asked before?"

"Pretty sure you delirious."

"What else did I say?"

That he wanted his mom, that he needed Clarke, that he was afraid to be alone, that he was lost and didn't know how to continue. "Doesn't matter," Clarke said softly.

The sickly smile he offered was drugged with pain. "You look like you haven't even left the tent."

Clarke managed a quiet laugh. "I haven't. I couldn't very well leave you, could I?"

"How long…?"

"That doesn't matter either."

"The kids, are they ready?"

"Nearly, yes."

"Well then. Sounds like I need to speed up the recovery," he remarked.

"I'd rather you just took it easy and rested," Clarke advised.

"I think," he choked on his words, voice cracking. "I think," he tried again. Then he just shut his eyes tightly. That didn't keep the tears from landing on the cot.

"Shh, Bellamy, don't try to talk," Clarke soothed, reaching for his hand. His grip was strong, too strong, but she didn't dare pull away.

"I'm sorry," Bellamy croaked. "It just…it hurts."

"I'm sorry too," Clarke returned. "I'm sorry I can't help you, and that this had to happen at all. This was my punishment."

"Ours," he corrected weakly. "Don't worry, Princess. I got it covered."

"I know," Clarke nearly whimpered. "You're really warm still, Bell. The fever's down quite a bit, but not all the way. You should rest."

"Fever?"

"You had a pretty bad infection," she explained. "Do you want some water?" She started to stand up, but his hand kept her from moving very far away.

"No. Stay here. Please?"

"Alright. You should rest," she repeated as she slowly sat back down.

"So should you, Princess," he said as he gently pushed her head back so it was resting against the cot. "I'm not the only one who's suffering in this tent."

"But I can help—"

"So can I," he cut her off. His hand stayed on her head, smoothing back her tangled hair, a repetitive motion that continued even after hair was sufficiently smoothed away from her face. "You have to stop trying to do everything, Clarke."

"You do too, Rebel King," she returned. "You have a very bad habit of trying to protect everyone from everything."

"I'm letting you help me now, aren't I?" He smiled when she laughed quietly.

"You don't have a choice. It was either me or my mom."

"Your mom scares me."

"She doesn't scare me."

"I think she's scared _of_ you, Clarke. A lot of people are."

"You're not."

"Can't be. You're a Princess." When she turned to look at him, confused, he struggled to explain. "Respect, not fear." Still no understanding. "Crying. I've seen you cry. I can't be afraid after that."

"I bet I could be scary if I wanted to be."

"Not when I know what's going on inside."

"Where?"

"Your heart."

Silence as they simply breathed and were thankful to have each other, friends who knew each other so well that words weren't necessary at this moment.

"You don't know everything, Rebel King," Clarke said softly at last.

"I know," he agreed. "And you don't either, Princess." A helpless and pained whimper when he tried to move on the cot to a more comfortable position.

"Bell, don't move."

"Yeah, I got that," he grunted, breathing suddenly short and hard.

"Please just rest," she begged. "Please don't try to move, or talk, or anything else. The more you rest the sooner you're heal, and then we can just get out of here."

"Can't," he groaned. "Hurts too much."

Clarke made a sound pained sympathy in the back of her throat. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Talk to me?"

"What?"

"Just talk to me. Tell me about anything you want to. Tell me a story. Tell me your story."

"You don't need to know my story."

"Yes, Clarke, I do. Tell it please."

"No. You know the important parts." She started to stand up again.

The movement against the cot and against his arm sent pain shooting through Bellamy's body. He cried out.

Clarke immediately dropped back down. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she said over and over again.

"Talk. Please?" Bellamy requested again, this time his voice so choked she could barely make out the words.

"Once upon a time, I was arrested," Clarke began. "I didn't shoot anyone. I never would've hurt anyway. I sat in my cell and drew pictures."

"You draw?"

"Not anymore."

"You should."

"Someday."

"Keep going."

"I ended up on a dropship with a bunch of criminals, and one jerk who shot my best friend's father because he had this idea in his head that a girl on the ship needed him."

"My sister, my responsibility," he murmured, eyes starting to close with exhaustion.

"And I hated him for all the stupid things he did," Clarke continued more quietly. "And I was terrified and desperate to survive. And I missed my mom."

"I killed my mom," Bellamy mumbled in a half-asleep state.

"No, you didn't. The Ark did," Clarke corrected firmly.

"I've killed lots of people."

"I have too."

"Clarke?" Slurred speech now, but Clarke couldn't tell if it was from his exhaustion or from the pain.

"Yes, Bellamy Blake?"

"I want to…to be the good guy."

"You are the good guy, Bell."

"I don't want to hurt people. Not anymore. We've done too much of that."

"I agree. Maybe, when we leave, we can start over."

"That sounds nice." And Clarke knew the delirium, from the pain or the rising fever or both, was finally setting in.

"Yes, it does," she agreed. "Rest, Rebel King. We're going to start over soon. Together."

"Together," he echoed, the word barely audible.

Slowly, carefully, Clarke stood, gently resting his arm on the cot by his side. He shifted a bit in his sleep, emitting a small whimper before burying his face in the makeshift pillow. He hadn't had one, Clarke had discovered, but she didn't want to hurt his neck, so she carefully folded up her blanket and placed it under his head. So far, he hadn't noticed. He mumbled something in his sleep, and she turned to see him grip the blanket with one hand, face scrunched up in pain. A moment later, he relaxed, inhaled deeply, and smiled slightly.

Or maybe he had noticed.

Clarke went back to the salve, which she carefully applied to his burns. They weren't the angry red they had been when the infection set in, but she knew by the fever that the infection wasn't gone just yet. So after she'd applied the salve, she soaked rags in cold water and laid them on his bare shoulders and neck, careful not to touch any of the burns.

Then she took a moment to step outside the tent and gaze at Arkadia. It looked like it always did. Guards at the gate, people walking about completing various jobs.

Little did they know what was really going on. By the time they did, it would be too late.


	9. Chapter 7

It started out as a scouting mission, then another to find the lost scouts. They'd played their part well, and three full scouting groups with supplies had gone missing before the night came.

Clarke helped Bellamy tie his boots because, much to his frustration, he still couldn't bend over enough to reach them. "Are you ready for this?" she asked.

"More than you could ever understand. Are you sure you want to leave? Your mom's here, Clarke."

"She did this to you."

"Only on Kane's orders."

"I know. But we need to take our people somewhere safe, where they can do more than just survive."

"This is a lot of responsibility," he warned. "Even more than before. Before we had no choice, now we're taking them away from security. We need to supply something in return."

"We will. We'll do it like we do everything: together."

"After you, Princess." He made a little bow and gestured to the door.

" _With_ you, Rebel King."

The remaining Hundred slipped out into the night, following their king and princess just as faithfully as they always had. The walk was long and not easy, and the rivers even harder. Jasper shot a bear; Monty nearly drowned. Raven just shook her head and traveled on.

It wasn't without little joys, like bear meat and a waterfall. But a good meal and a night of storytelling might be followed by sickness or a sprained ankle.

At least they were together.


	10. Chapter 8

As We Do Everything

By some miracle, everyone made it to camp. Their leaders laughed a little self-consciously when the sign reading "Camp Bellarke" was erected. But the Hundred knew no better way to honor their heroic leaders and really, no other way would have been right.

The work wasn't finished, and no one lived under the illusion that it was. They did, however, know how to throw a party, celebrating their very own unique Unity Day.

In the glow of the roaring bonfire, Bellamy once again found Clarke apart from the others, watching with a proud smile and a hand on her knife-belt, ready for anything.

"Hey Princess," he greeted her.

"Hey yourself, Rebel King." She smiled up at him.

"We made it."

"We did, didn't we?"

"Go have some fun, Clarke. You deserve it."

"So do you."

"I'll have my fun—"

"Not when the town is done," Clarke interrupted. "Not when we finish our peace negotiations with the Grounders, or even when the Arkadians stop looking for us."

He waited.

"You've done so much. Right now, you need to take a moment to take care of _you_."

"Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow and finally turned to face her.

"Really. So go have a drink. Join in the dance. Shout out to the moon, for all I care. Just, for once, do something for you."

"There's really only one thing I need to do for me."

"What's that?"

"Thank you."

"What?"

"Thank you for being there, and fighting right beside me. For taking care of me when I was helpless, for being my…"

"Co-leader?" she teased, using the term he'd coined at a time that now felt like ages ago.

"No. My Princess." An impish grin spread across his face. "There's actually one other thing."

"For you?"

"For both of us."

Then he took her face gently in his calloused hands and slowly closed the gap between them. They ignored the cat calls and the whistles of their people. Because, after all they had given, they only had one thing left to give: themselves. So in the moonlight, in the warm glow of the bonfire, Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake kissed, and that kiss was a gift and a promise.

Whatever happened, whatever came their way, they would face it like they had faced everything else: together.

When he finally ended the kiss, Bellamy pulled Clarke close. Clarke buried her face against his neck, and she could feel his head on her shoulder. "Best Unity Day ever," Bellamy whispered.

She didn't have to pull away to know that Bellamy had that rare but signature smirk on his face. She did anyway, and when he saw the look on her face, it was too cute not to kiss her just one more time.

* * *

Hey guys! Thanks so much for the really positive (and helpful!) reviews! It's been incredible knowing that someone out there cares to see what I wrote, and I'm sorry I got this update to you so late (working at 7:15am will do that to a person). I had sort of intended for the story to end here...but if anyone has any scenes they'd like to see written (read: prompts for what happens next, preferably one-shots), I'm happy to try to take them on!

You guys have been incredible, and I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing and sharing. Thanks!


	11. Chapter 9

As We Do Everything

 _For you, I Am The Kabby, for being such a fantabulous reader and reviewer. A scene with Abby and Marcus, as requested. I thought about it, and I honestly think that while Marcus might not agree with Clarke and Bellamy, I do think he would understand their reasons, so he's probably not as angry as we'd expect._

 _And for all my other readers and reviewers, your support has meant a lot to me. I keep writing only because you guys keep requesting more._

 _As for something with the kids at Camp Bellarke...I'd love to whip something up. Anyone have any particular scenes, threats, etc that they'd like to see dealt with? If not I'll just take off and see where the story leads._

* * *

"So they're actually gone."

Kane heard the accusing tone in her voice, and he really couldn't blame her. _Had_ it been his fault? He didn't think Bellamy would be spiteful enough to leave simply because he'd been shock lashed for a crime he had actually committed. Clarke was enough of a leader, and had faced enough hardship, to understand Kane's motivations, but he could see her taking this as a threat to her people. Still, wouldn't the two discuss the situation before just leaving? "Yes, as far as we can tell they have all left," Kane replied, suddenly realizing Abby was waiting for an answer.

"How many?"

"What was left of the Hundred, along with Raven and Wick."

"Gone. Overnight. How did that happen?"

Kane ran his fingers through his hair and let out a huff of frustration. "I don't know, Abby. If I knew that, I wouldn't have let it happen."

"I don't understand why Clarke and Bellamy would do that," Abby continued. "They of all people know it's not safe out there."

"It wasn't safe when they were on the ground alone either."

"Are you saying it was a good idea to leave?"

"No, Abby, I'm not saying that," Kane assured her. "All I'm saying is they're not helpless children anymore. While I think it would be better if they were here, I'm confident they can survive on their own."

"We need to get them back."

"Abby," he coaxed.

"We need to get them back," she said firmly. "Just because they survived before we got here doesn't mean they should have to keep carrying that kind of burden. We're all safer together."

"I'm not saying we won't search for them," Kane hurriedly explained. "We will. I just want you to relax a little, stop worrying so much. Your daughter's not going to die out there after one night. Honestly, she and the Blake kid are going to keep everyone alive for a lot longer than that if I know anything about either of them."

Abby sighed and rested her hands on the table. The rest of the council would be gathering in this very room in less than an hour to discuss their options, but Abby and Kane knew there would be a search no matter what the council ultimately decided. Abby just didn't want to wait. Her daughter was out there. After everything they'd been through…. "Why would they leave, Marcus?" she asked softly.

He could hear the vulnerability in her voice and knew the answer had to be carefully constructed. It couldn't sound like Clarke didn't need or love her mom. "I don't know, Abby," he answered truthfully, going to stand beside her.

"Do you think Clarke's mad at me for shock lashing Bellamy?"

A fearful, almost child-like question. "No, I don't think either of them is that petty. I think, even though they disagreed with our decision, they understood it," Kane tried to comfort her.

"It would have been them," Abby thought out loud. "None of the others would have dared to arrange something like that, even if they wanted to."

"I have no doubt it was your daughter and the Blake boy."

"They knew what they were doing," Abby realized. "They let us think she was just tending to his wounds. How long do you think they were planning this?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"Why would they leave?"

"Yes. Why would they leave something like this, where they have safety and friends and family and supplies?"

"Any number of reasons, I suppose." Kane tried desperately to answer her questions. He honestly didn't know. "Because they didn't feel like they were being represented on the council? Because they thought they could make better decisions? Because they wanted to go back to the way things were when they were in charge? Maybe they don't like the order or the ease of the domesticity we have here. I don't know, Abby. I just don't know."

"But we'll get them back, won't we? Marcus?"

"I sincerely hope so."

All the softness was gone from Abby's face. She slammed her fists down on the table and swore. "We shouldn't have done it!"

"We had to. You know that."

"Maybe there was another way."

"To remind them that they have to answer to authority? To punish a crime that already had a pre-determined punishment?" He hesitantly put his hands on her arms, sliding down so he reached her wrists. Then he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. "Abby, you know that's not why they left. They had other reasons. That doesn't matter right now."

"I just, if we knew what they were, we could negotiate," she nearly whimpered.

"We're going to do the best we can," he assured her.

"I came all the way down here and went through hell. So did Clarke. I just want to watch my daughter grow up."

"It's too late for that, Abby."

"You're right. But I'd like to be here when she needs me," Abby continued, mumbling into his shoulder. "I'd like to help her when she has tough personal decisions to make, or medical procedures to complete, or when she's pregnant with her first child and has no idea what she's doing. I want to be her mother, Marcus. And I can't do that when she runs away from me."

"I know you do, Abby. But right now we have to be thankful that you were there for her before and prepared her for survival. Once we find them, you can be there again. Right now, you have to trust that you taught her what she needs to know."

"I'm not sure I did. There's so much—"

"And never enough time for any of it. And honestly, with someone as stubborn as Clarke, not nearly enough opportunities," Kane acknowledged. "But she's with Raven, who _did_ listen to you, and Jasper and Monty and Wick, who are smart as weasels, and Bellamy, whom I'm willing to bet would never let anything happen to her. She'll be alright for now."

Abby looked up at Kane, blinking back tears. "I don't—"

"I know you don't trust him," Kane cut her off. "I've had my doubts too, a lot more than normal lately. But Abby, you didn't see him when we tried to save Clarke from Roan. The guy stabbed the kid in the leg and he was bleeding out and couldn't walk more than three feet without falling over. And he kept telling us he was going to keep going because Clarke's life was in danger and he couldn't lose her."

Abby nodded and rested her head on his shoulder again, sniffling quietly.

"You saw him when we got him back here. He was a mess."

"The wound was deep," she recalled. "I did what I could to patch him up, but it was bad."

"We could hear him howling all the way across camp from medical," Kane remembered with a reluctant smile. "And to think he wanted to keep going when it felt like that. He's not going to let anything happen to your daughter, Abby, or any of the other kids either."

"And what if he's stabbed again?" she countered. "What if he can't walk?"

Kane knew she meant a lot more than "can't walk". He knew she was worried about Bellamy dying in an attempt to save the others. "We'll just have to find them before that happens."


	12. Chapter 10

Bellamy stood near the door, a bad habit he'd picked up after, well, he didn't even know. When _had_ he stopped trusting that he was safe? Right now, he was facing his Princess, all decked out in her Grounder garb, and honestly, it kind of freaked him out. Just a little.

"What are you thinking?" Clarke asked. She couldn't read that expression. Almost all the others, but not that one. They didn't have much time to discuss this before a decision had to be made. The Clans were waiting.

"I'm thinking you're kind of scary," Bellamy confessed without really thinking it through.

"What?"

"With your sword and gun and wicked armor and stuff," he clarified before realizing he was just digging himself a deeper hole. But he could trust Clarke, right? He had to. There was no one else to turn to right now.

Clarke laughed a joyless laugh. "You're afraid of me. When we're supposed to be deciding the fate of our people, you're afraid of me."

"First, I'm not afraid of you. Second, people don't choose when to be afraid. And third, I _am_ thinking about the fate of our people."

"Are you?" She didn't believe him. Bellamy had focus issues sometimes. Sometimes he had a hard time looking at the bigger picture. He thought about only Finn when they tortured Lincoln. He thought about only Octavia when he shot the Jaha. That was just the beginning of his track record, and while Clarke did agree with most of the outcomes, she knew they had to think bigger than that. But maybe that was why they lead together.

"I am. We need a truce with the Grounders. We're too small to fight anyone and until we find more weapons, we could easily be wiped out in less than a few hours."

"You don't seem to have much confidence in our people."

"They're a bunch of kids who don't have anything to defend themselves with."

"They've been through hell."

"They're still kids, Clarke."

"So are we," she said softly.

"No, we're not. We grew up a long time ago, whether we wanted to or not."

How right he was. "So you think we should agree to this?"

"I think we don't have a choice." He leaned against the door, tilted his head back, and shut his eyes. "They're not asking much, Clarke. Just that we become the thirteenth clan."

"That's what Arkadia was."

"And that truce was broken by Pike." Then, quietly, "And me."

Clarke nodded but didn't say anything.

"I didn't listen last time, and look where that landed us. I think we need to take this truce and acknowledge that it's our only option."

"I agree."

"Then why did you just make me spend the last few minutes trying to convince you of it?"

"You were convincing yourself."

He sighed. "Probably. I just don't like trusting them, not after Lexa."

"Lexa was looking after her own people."

"Lexa betrayed us, and _you_."

"I know."

"Well, we'd better go tell them we've decided."

"We haven't though. Who—"

"That's not up for discussion. No way am I letting our only healer get branded."

"Bell, you were beaten—"

"Weeks ago," he cut her off. "I'm fine now. You know that. We're not discussing this. It's decided, Princess. Besides, what kind of Rebel King am I without a tattoo of some sort?"

"It's not a tattoo, Bellamy. It's a piece of metal that melts your flesh."

"Yeah, I get that. Now can we get going before I change my mind about trusting them?"

"You're an—"

"Ass? Only half the time, Princess," he returned with a wink. "Now, allow me to escort you to the Summit."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but couldn't resist a smile. Ever since they'd left Arkadia, Bellamy had started to loosen up a bit, even making jokes now and then. He took his role seriously, and that was probably why they were all still alive, but she'd also caught him rocking out to Jasper's iPad the other day with what she liked to call the Inner Circle (including, of course, Jasper, Monty, Raven, Miller, and Wick, because he just sort of stuck around like an unwanted burr on clothing).

"Lead the way, Rebel King."

* * *

Did he really need another burn? Absolutely not. Did he totally dread that feeling all over again? No question there. But was he stupid enough to let anyone brand his healer? Not on your life.

So when Clarke announced they would become the Thirteenth Clan, Bellamy obligingly rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. And Clarke was right. It burned like hell. But Bellamy was a warrior, so he stood tall, bit his tongue till it bled, and sincerely hoped he wouldn't be expected to speak any time soon.

He wasn't. Clarke took the oath and completed the negotiations, eventually succeeding in convincing the Clans that there was no need for the Thirteenth Clan to have a permanent resident in Polis when the other Clans didn't. She assured them someone would come if summoned. Bellamy just stood there and pretended to agree with everything Clarke said.

And just like that, they were Grounders, just like he'd said they were so long ago when they had faced death head on.

* * *

"I'm fine, Clarke. Just don't touch it," Bellamy complained.

"We should at least clean it," Clarke insisted.

"Pretty sure the brand killed anything unsanitary on my arm, and it's not like I never bathe."

Jasper coughed loudly. "When _was_ the last time you bathed?"

"Shut up, Jasper," Bellamy growled.

"I'm just asking. I mean, you stink."

"So do you."

"Boys, boys, let's stop trying to prove who's more manly by how much you stink," Raven interrupted. "Don't we have more important things to talk about?"

"Yeah. Like _what_ the two of you just did," Monty agreed.

"We made a truce with the Grounders," Clarke replied calmly.

"Without consulting us," Monty pointed out. "Just like how you decided the Hundred were leaving, or how you let your mom shock lash Bellamy. Just like how you do everything."

"Monty," Bellamy nearly growled.

"They didn't exactly give us time to come back here and take a vote," Clarke shot back. "We did the best we could with the facts we had, and I think it was the right decision."

"Of course you do. You made it."

"It was a joint decision," Clarke corrected.

"Who made you two leaders?" Wick wanted to know. When Clarke and Bellamy glared at him, he put up his hands in surrender. "Hey now, I'm just askin'. I wasn't here when all this started, so I just wanted to know, like for real."

"Let me tell you a little story, Wick," Raven said, as sarcastic as ever. "Once upon a time, Bellamy had a harem in his tent and a gang outside it. He told people to do 'whatever the hell they wanted', and they did. Then people died, and Clarke dragged him off on a scouting mission. When they came back, they somehow decided that 'whatever the hell you want' wasn't really a good rule, and that they were the only ones sane enough to make rules. Thus, our dictators."

"Raven," Jasper cautioned.

"Charlotte," Bellamy said simply.

"What about her?" Monty wanted to know.

"Who?" Raven wondered.

"A girl, younger than the rest," Bellamy explained, unable to make eye contact. "She killed Wells. When we tried to talk to her, she killed herself. _That's_ when Clarke and I decided the camp needed leaders."

"So naturally it had to be the two of you," Raven agreed, the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"Clarke's smart," Bellamy pointed out. "I knew that much."

"And people liked Bellamy, so they would listen to him," Clarke added. "It seemed like the best decision, and it's the only reason everyone's still alive. Now, are you disagreeing with our leadership and suggesting a rebellion?"

"No," Monty and Raven chorused.

"What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that you might need to change how decisions are made," Monty struggled to explain. "Like, you probably shouldn't be running off and making decisions like this with only two heads involved."

"One head, one heart," Raven mumbled.

Bellamy heard, and glared at her, but didn't think it worth the argument. "You're suggesting we have a council like at Arkadia," he guessed.

"Look, we'd keep you two as the leaders," Monty clarified. "But maybe we could vote for some people to work as advisors, sort of like the council, but without any real power."

"So then they're pointless and we're back to where we started," Jasper observed. "Good plan, Monty."

"What if we swear to listen and take the council seriously?" Clarke offered. Bellamy's look told her he thought she was crazy, but Clarke didn't care. The others had a good point. She and Bellamy _couldn't_ make every decision on their own, and quite honestly, she didn't want to. It was exhausting and stressful and lead to a lack of sleep.

"I'm willing to work with that," Monty conceded.

"Alright. We'll talk to the others in the morning," Clarke decided. "Right now, everyone who is _not_ injured can clear out of the med tent and give my patients some privacy."

Everyone stood, pushing the various tree-stump chairs back against the canvass wall. They walked out the door, one by one.

"Bellamy."

"What? I'm not injured."

"Sit."

"Good luck, man," Monty said, patting his friend on the shoulder before ducking out in a hurry.

"I'm fine, Clarke."

"I know you are," she said once she knew everyone was gone.

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I want to know what you think of the plan."

"I think it's a good one. I think each person on the council could be responsible for smaller things that we could oversee. Someone could handle building, someone food and supplies, and so on. It would make our lives a lot easier. Then we can just look over their shoulders and make sure they're bossing people around properly."

"You're ok with that?" She was surprised. Bellamy seemed to like to have everything under careful control.

"No, I'm not," he confessed. "But I'm exhausted. I can't keep doing this, and neither can you. The bags under your eyes are starting to get bigger than your eyes themselves, and I know you're not sleeping because I'm not stupid. And I think the kids, at least some of them, are smart enough to handle that kind of responsibility."

"I think you're right."

"Princess, I'm always right."

"Not true, Rebel King." His face fell and Clarke knew she shouldn't have said that. "Bell, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"You did 'mean', and you're right," he cut her off, standing up abruptly. "If we're finished here, I need to get some sleep. I'm a double symbol now, and that takes a lot of energy. A guy's gotta sleep."

"Please don't be mad at me," Clarke begged. "I can't handle you being mad at me too."

"I'm not mad, Clarke," he assured her. "I'm not sure what I am, but I'm not mad."

Clarke reached for him then, whether for a hug or a kiss she didn't know, but Bellamy drew back.

"I'll see you in the morning, Princess."

And Clarke stared at the tent flap blowing in the wind long after Bellamy had walked out.


	13. Chapter 11: A Day Off

Sorry for the long overdue update, folks. Hopefully it won't happen again. In the meantime, please accept my apology of a rather lengthy chapter, and thank you so much for the encouraging reviews. It means a lot to me to keep hearing from my readers.

Enjoy!

* * *

By the time Clarke stumbled into the area designated as the future location of the Mess Hall (currently lined with downed trees used for both seating and tables), the sun had long since dried the dew on the grass. She took an open seat next to a girl she wasn't sure she'd ever met. Slowly, she became aware of the direction of everyone's attention. Bellamy. Of course. He stood at the center of the Mess Hall (or what _would_ be its center), giving one of his classic leader speeches. Why was he so good at that?

"It's a good point," Bellamy was saying, his voice loud but not shouting, just firm enough to capture everyone's attention. "We can do things differently now. There's no Chancellor to tell us what to do, no council to vote on our fates."

Clarke knew he was talking about the shock lashing, but she also knew he tried desperately to avoid the subject. She didn't know if that was because of how afraid he'd been, how miserable, or how weak it had rendered him. She did know what he had experienced, and the two of them kept it to themselves. No one would ever know what Bellamy had done for his people, not completely anyway. He'd been tortured and drained for his blood. He'd killed hundreds. He'd taken beating after beating, and then he'd taken on one more. Walked right into it.

And nobody would ever know.

"But we have leaders!" someone shouted.

"Yeah, 'do whatever the hell you want' didn't work out so well," another added, apparently daring to tease the speaker.

Luckily, Bellamy just smirked. "No, it didn't."

"We've got a Princess and a Rebel King."

All anonymous voices in the crowd, hidden and faceless, but representing a sort of brainwashing that came from years of one kind of governing.

"Look, I'm not saying we're going to stop leading," Bellamy assured them. "I'm saying that maybe we need some advisors, to help make sure the best decisions are made for everyone. We don't need to be Arkadia all over again."

Murmuring in the crowd, some for and some unsure, but no obvious objections.

"So here's what I'm proposing: all of you vote for advisors. We'll take the four with the most votes and consult them before running off and saving the world."

A loud cheer.

Bellamy's hand went up, silencing them all. "And then," he continued, having to shout a bit this time, "in celebration of the treaty with the Grounders Clarke and I gained yesterday, we're going to take a day off. Have fun. The only rule is that the girls get the lake until noon, and us guys get it after that. A word of advice: you stink, so wash up."

Another cheer.

"Place your votes, then enjoy your day off. You've earned it."

Bellamy turned then to see Clarke watching him. He didn't like that expression, but he knew he had to go over and talk to her. "Good morning, Princess," he greeted her as he came to stand beside her. "London," he greeted the girl next to her.

The girl, apparently London, stood up quickly.

"No, you can sit," Bellamy assured her.

"I was done anyway," London hurriedly assured him. "Um, I'm going to go cast my vote and then head for the lake."

Clarke smiled warmly at her. "I'll join you shortly."

London just nodded and hurried away.

"Sit," Clarke said.

"Nice to see you too." He did as he was told.

Clarke just stared at the wooden bowl in front of her, filled with some sort of mash, and waited for him to speak.

"What did I do now, Princess?"

"Oh, I don't know. Should we start with your decision to change the government around here?"

"We decided on that last night. I was just sharing the good news."

"Without me."

"You were sleeping, Clarke."

"You could've woken me."

He put his hands up, leaning away from her slightly. "Woah-ho, I'm not about to risk my life without good reason," he attempted to tease. When Clarke didn't even smile, he tried again. "You were tired," he pointed out gently, lowering his voice so the others wouldn't overhear. "I could see that last night. I just wanted you to get some rest."

"Maybe this could've waited until lunch then," she countered.

Bellamy sighed. "Remember…last night, when you said you were exhausted and tired of running everything? I was trying to help with that."

She actually looked at him now.

"I see now that I probably could've done that differently," he acknowledged. "But that's honestly all I was trying to do. I wasn't trying to undermine you, Clarke. I'd never do that. Besides, if it was you or me, they'd follow you."

Clarke sighed and stared back at her bowl. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm just tired and stressed."

"I know." Discretely, he put a hand on her knee under the table, trying to show he understood. He himself was nearly dead with exhaustion and stress, and his only job on top of everything leader-like was guiding hunting parties. Clarke was on call twenty-four seven. "Next time we can talk first."

"You're still upset from last night."

"A little. But you were right. I screwed up, majorly this time."

"At least you know that."

He offered a joyless chuckle. "There's always that," he agreed.

"But Bellamy, do you really think this was a good idea?"

"The council? Absolutely."

"The day off."

"Clarke, look at them. They're exhausted."

"We need actual _houses_ built soon," Clarke reminded him. "A place to eat, a place to put the sick and wounded, and places for us to _live_. Taking today off is only another delay."

"I know that. But we can't work them all the time either. That's no good for moral, or mental health, or physical health, or productivity, or anything else. We work them too much and eventually they stop being useful."

"Back to your old utilitarian self?" Clarke teased.

"One of us has to be."

"I just don't think it's—"

Bellamy cut her off, placing his hands on either side of her face and drawing her in for a kiss.

Clarke pulled away with a slightly scolding, "Bellamy!"

"What?" he asked, grinning widely. "It's not like nobody knows. Pretty sure they all saw the kiss on Unity Day."

"That's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is—"

He kissed her again, briefly, before pulling back and smirking at her. "No, Clarke. Absolutely not. Stop thinking so hard. We're going to get people in here to help us, but today we take some time to refresh. I'm going to be at that lake right at noon, so you'd better have your girls out of there, because I know there are plenty of guys who want a good bath. And plenty of girlfriends who _want_ the guys to have baths."

Clarke snorted and lightly smacked his shoulder. "Can we afford this?" she asked.

"We have enough food for a few days, and building is right on schedule. With the council, things will move even more smoothly than before, which actually isn't saying much, now that I think about it. I think we can afford a day off."

"Alright."

"Alright? That's it?"

"No."

"Of course not, Princess. Never is."

"You need to promise me something."

"And something makes you think I'll agree to the promise before I hear it?"

"I agreed to yours," she reminds him quietly. She can still see the tears in his eyes as he begged her to let him suffer in privacy after his punishment, the terror and pride and helplessness all at war with his need to ask her for something.

She can also see that her comment hurts him. He draws away for a moment and won't meet her gaze. He remembers the moment well too, she guesses, and the humiliation of that memory is too much for him. She wonders if it's the trust he had an issue with, or the weakness. Or maybe it's that she was his only option.

So she amends her comment and tries to lighten the mood. "Promise me or I won't kiss you again."

"Is that just for today, or forever?" he asks carefully, ready to take on a lighter topic.

She shrugs. "Are you willing to take that risk?"

"Promise." When she laughs, Bellamy's face lights up. How long has it been since he heard that sound? It's a great sound. He makes a mental note to try to get it a little more often.

"I need you to promise not to do anything like this again."

"Ok, a lot has happened in the past few minutes, and days, so you're going to have to be a bit more specific."

"Don't go making announcements and decisions and trying to spare my feelings without talking to me first."

"I can promise to the first two, but not the last one. I'm afraid it's kind of my job, as your Rebel King, Princess."

"Fair enough. So we have a deal?"

"Absolutely, Princess." He stands up, moves to stand behind her, and bends over to kiss her cheek. "We have a deal." He knows she's blushing, but he's not finished. He reaches down, pokes her sides in just the right spot, and Clarke shrieks with laughter and nearly falls over into him, immobilized by her ticklish spot. He laughs. Clarke swats at his hands.

"Get moving, Rebel King. Enjoy your day off."

"Oh, I will. Don't worry about me, Princess."

* * *

Bellamy was right, of course. Clarke knew the science said everyone needed a day off, and in fact every major religion of the past had built that into all systems of worship, probably for the wellbeing of their members.

Clarke and the girls enjoyed a rather wild water fight which, they insisted, was the best way to get clean.

When Bellamy lead his guys down to the lake at noon, and they could still hear the girls splashing about, he dispersed the men, telling them to come back in a hour. Then, once they'd left, he approached the lake with his back turned, utterly unable to see where he was walking.

"Clarke!" he shouted.

And was promptly deafened by girls screaming.

"I'm not looking!" he hollered over their shrieks. "Clarke, you there?"

"I'm here, Bellamy. If you turn around, I swear it will be the last thing you see."

"I'm not going to turn around." There might have been a day when he would've done so without hesitation, but he was beyond that now. Life couldn't be lived by "whatever the hell you want", and things mattered. _People_ mattered, every single one of them, and one of the ways he could show that was to respect them. "The guys will be back in an hour, and I'm not sure I'll be able to get them to leave again. I came here to warn you."

Silence. A few nervous giggles.

Bellamy stood there, his ears turning red. His past, his stupid past, and his stupid harem. How many of those girls were still alive? He wouldn't even recognize them, and he deeply regretted that.

At last Clarke responded, "Ok. Thank you."

"I'm going to leave now. I'll be back with the others in an hour."

"Alright. We'll be gone."

He certainly hoped so.

* * *

Sunset found them counting the votes for what the camp had taken to calling the Royal Court. It was no surprise when Monty, Jasper, and Raven were elected. When Wick's name was called, however, the only explanation Clarke could come up with was his previous job experience and the fact that he didn't have the same experiences as the rest of the Royal Court. Honestly, she thought it was probably a good choice.

Then the stars came out, and Bellamy and Clarke found themselves sitting away from the campfire, quietly observing, Clarke wrapped in a thin blanket.

"This was a good idea," Clarke acknowledged.

"A party?"

"A day off, and the advisors."

"Royal Court," he teased, knowing she'd been correcting people all day on the name.

She didn't fall for the bait. "We need to rethink the map for the camp."

"Camp Bellarke?" He tried again.

Clarke just growled at him. She'd objected to the name from the beginning, saying it sounded like a "ship." Bellamy had forced her to explain the old-fashioned use for the word and was surprised to discover it had something to do with unfulfilled romance. He'd assured her that no one else knew about that, but that hadn't made her any happier. "We just need to think carefully about where we want the different cabins in relation to the Mess Hall and Hospital. I mean, I should be right next to the Hospital, or even have my house connected to it."

"No," he said firmly.

"Why not?"

"If we have to quarantine for any reason, that puts you right in the middle of it."

"I'd be in the middle of it anyway. I'm the doctor."

He sighed in exasperation. "I don't like leading with someone who's a healer," he confessed.

"What?"

"It scares me."

"Bellamy Blake? Scared?"

"Oh, don't even, Princess."

"Alright. I'm sorry. Do you want a new co-leader?"

"No, I don't. It just complicates things with you having other commitments, ones that put you in danger all the time."

"Oh, because your little hunting expeditions don't put _you_ in danger?"

"My 'little hunting expeditions' keep us _alive_."

"Surely someone else could lead them."

"You can't chain me up like a dog and not let me do anything, Clarke."

"I'm not. But you can't do that to me either."

Silence.

"Truce?" he requested.

"For now," she agreed. "Are we going to look at the map?"

"Yes. But not tonight, Princess. I have other plans."

"And just what are those other plans?"

"Get your head out of the gutter, Clarke."

"That's not what I meant!" she cried indignantly.

"Well good, because it's not what I meant."

"What _did_ you mean?"

"You're going to go over there and have some fun. Take a drink of Monty's moonshine. Dance. Talk to that London girl and convince her to come work for you."

"Dance?" she sneered. "What makes you think I dance?"

"I think you should."

"And how did you know about London?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed that you didn't take the day off like I told you to. You need an assistant for the med tent, and you think she's a good match. I've heard the two of you talking."

"Do you trust her?"

"She wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"In the med tent," Clarke clarified.

"I trust that you could teach anyone to know what they were doing."

"That's not an answer, Bellamy."

"I don't trust anyone—"

"That's not tru—"

"—with you," he finished. "If I ran the world, I'd never risk your safety. Ever."

"I can protect myself."

"I know you can. But we need you."

"I'm not going anywhere, Bell."

"You'd better not."

They sat, both fighting the memories of her leaving him to face his demons alone. She knew now she would've been better off staying behind and facing them alongside him.

"Right now though you do need to go. You need to go do something instead of being a recluse leader who sits over here and only talks to the other elites. That's not the kind of society we're trying to build here."

"And what are you going to do, Mr. Rebel King?"

"I am going to go play poker with Monty, Wick, Miller, and that other random guy whose name I can't remember." Bellamy stood and offered her a hand, knowing full well she didn't need it, but also knowing that she deserved it.

Clarke took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "We should do this again," she found herself saying.

"Talk?"

"No."

"Sit on a log?"

" _No_."

"Then I have no idea what you're talking about, Princess."

"Take a day off."

"Sounds good to me. Now get lost."

"Yes sir."


	14. Chapter 12: Who Holds You?

It was Clarke's screams that woke him. Bellamy was a light sleeper on a good night, and even though he'd surrendered coordination of watches to Jasper.

So when he heard Clarke's screams, followed by her broken sobs, Bellamy nearly walked through the wall of his tent in his hurry to get to her. Had he actually known what was going on, he would've summoned Raven and sent her in instead of him, but he really didn't have any clue what he was walking into.

Clarke was tangled in her thin red blanket, flailing helplessly, tears streaming down her cheeks—caught in a deep sleep.

It was dark and the tent felt an awful lot like the cave had that fateful day when he'd told Charlotte to "slay her demons" while she was awake. He swallowed the lump in his throat before approaching carefully. Octavia could get violent when she was dreaming, and Bellamy had no idea what Clarke was like. He really didn't need to have a black eye to explain in the morning.

"Clarke?" he whispered, crouching next to her. Why hadn't they set her up with a cot? Why was the Princess still sleeping on the ground?

Clarke didn't react, at least not to _him_. "No, please," she sobbed. "Please don't. I can't. I just can't."

"Clarke," he said a little louder, hesitantly reaching to touch her shoulder.

Clarke flinched away, sobbing hysterically. "You can't do this!"

"Clarke!" he shouted this time, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her.

Clarke's eyes flew open and she sat up fast, nearly slamming into his face with her forehead. "You can—" She stopped, confused.

"Clarke," he whispered. "Hey. It was just a dream."

"Bellamy?"

"Just me," he confirmed.

"But it was, they were," she stuttered, still struggling to process the difference between reality and the dream.

"Yeah, sucks, doesn't it?" he confirmed sympathetically. "Here's what's going to happen next, Clarke: I'm going to hold you, and you're going to cry it out, and then we're both going to go back to sleep and wake up like nothing happened, because that's really the only way to deal with this kind of thing."

Clarke didn't understand, but when Bellamy wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close and whispered to her that everything was ok, that they'd done what had to be done, that they hadn't had a choice, that she wasn't the only one with ghosts and demons, she _did_ cry until she felt as though she couldn't cry anymore. And when she was done, she looked up at him, possibly registering reality for the first time.

"Bellamy? What are you doing in my tent?"

He chuckled. "Having a heart attack, thinking that someone was murdering you," he confessed. "You good now?"

"Yes," she said quietly, ashamed that he'd seen her like this.

"You sure?"

"Yes. Thank you."

He kissed the top of her head before standing to leave.

"Bellamy?"

"Yes, Clarke?"

"Who holds you when you're scared?"

"Octavia did."

Clarke stared at the place where he'd disappeared into the night, presumably the tent flap, and wished she could help him.

She knew she couldn't.


	15. Chapter 13: Taking A Toll

Thanks so much for the reviews, folks! A special thanks to I Am Kaddy and sydcasy, my faithful readers and reviewers. Enjoy!

* * *

"So, London, what's it like, working with the great Clarke Griffin?" Bellamy asked as he entered the newly erected hospital building via the door. An actual _door_. There was no one in camp who wasn't excited about that feature.

London looked up from the supplies she'd been organizing. "I'm not really sure what to say to that," she admitted.

"I mean, we both know Clarke is bossy, and she thinks she knows everything, and she likes stuff just so," Bellamy prompted.

"I heard that!" Clarke shouted from the other room. Yes, _room_. The place had rooms.

Bellamy had insisted that, after the Mess Hall, the hospital be the next building to be completed. He'd pointed out that it was very necessary, and that in a pinch everyone could be fit in the two buildings to live and sleep. Of course nobody had objected except Clarke, but that hadn't lasted very long because deep down she was maybe a little unreasonably excited about having her own hospital.

"I know," Bellamy called back. Then he turned to London and lowered his voice. "No, seriously though, how is it?"

"I like it. There's just so much to learn, and I'm not sure I'll be ready before something happens."

"Welcome to reality on earth," Bellamy agreed.

"If I had a concern about someone in the Royal Court, or another power position, would I bring that to you?" London asked carefully after a glance at the door.

"Is there a reason you wouldn't bring it to Clarke?"

"It's about her."

Bellamy shut the door to their room and sat down on the tree stump chair. "Yes, that would be me," he confirmed.

"She's tired," London started, not quite sure how to explain it.

"We're all tired, London," Bellamy explained gently. "Even the days off once a week aren't enough anymore, but we have to finish this before winter or we'll become human popsicles."

"But Clarke's different," London struggled. "She doesn't really sleep."

Bellamy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Since that night he'd caught Clarke in the middle of a nightmare, he hadn't overheard any since. He also knew London had moved in to share Clarke's tent. Bellamy, on the other hand, had been kicked awake more than once by Miller or Jasper or whoever was on watch. He was usually informed that "it" had happened again before being left to face his demons alone. He desperately hoped Clarke received more comfort than that. "Nightmares."

"Yes. Sort of. But she thinks too hard."

He smiled grimly. "Clarke's always thinking. It's why we're all still alive."

"I mean, she never takes a break. Her mind is always going, and so is she, until she literally drops wherever she's standing. It scares me."

Bellamy swore and started to pace, no longer able to sit still. "She's going to catch something," he muttered.

"She already did," London revealed hesitantly.

"Is she ok? What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know. Fever, chills, exhaustion, the usual."

"She needs to take a break," he grumbled.

"She won't."

"I'll talk to her."

"Please don't tell her I told," London begged. "She wanted me to not share everything with you."

"She what?"

"When she asked me to be her assistant, she said I couldn't share everything with you."

"What else have you decided not to share?"

"I _can't_ share everything with you," London insisted. "But I'm going to tell you the important stuff, because I don't want Clarke to be sick any more than you do."

Bellamy reached for the door.

"Please."

"I won't. Promise. But I _am_ going to talk to her about preserving her own health."

As can be expected, that conversation did _not_ go over well. There was some shouting, a slap or two, and even a heartfelt confession that Bellamy was "worried about Clarke" and that Clarke thought Bellamy "worked too hard." That was followed by Bellamy asking if she was even getting any sleep, which Clarke countered by saying that she got the same amount that _he_ did, after which he discovered that it was Clarke who sent the watch in to wake him, because she'd tried to do it herself once and had been strictly ordered not to. Bellamy found this humiliating, knowing that she knew about his nightmares too, but also was grateful that he didn't have to bare that weakness to her every night and instead got a simple kick to the stomach from one of his guys.

Voices became lower, tensions rose, and at some point the Royal Court members wandered in (most likely summoned by London, the little caring, selfless… _something-or-other_ ). They supported neither leader, insisting that, in fact, _both_ of them were overworking themselves. Clarke's temper rose but her attempt to stomp across the room was halted by her fever's decision to suck the strength from her body, and Raven ushered her away to strict "tent-rest" until London pronounced her trainer healthy again.

Bellamy didn't get off easy either, because by the time he was speaking heatedly, his lungs betrayed him and he found himself facing a diagnosis for a severe cold, possibly pneumonia, offered by both Clarke and London.

And that was how the leaders found themselves confined to their tents, and how the Royal Court exercised their powers, and how everyone in camp learned a little self-preservation. That's also how working restrictions were put into place (even on the Rebel King and the Princess) and how regular physicals were required (once the doctor was better, of course).

They might stumble, but they were learning their lessons one by one.


	16. Chapter 14: Logistics of Life on Earth

_Hey guys! A short chapter, with no dialogue (*insert sad face here*), but building up to a sort of saga that'll be a few connected chapters (like the original story) and less of the one-shots I've been working on. Then back to the one-shots, I assume, or wherever else your suggestions and this story take me._

 _On another, very exciting, note, stop by I Am The Kaddy's "As I'm Missing You". It's a spin-off of this story, proposing that Clarke does in fact stay in touch with her mother and can't simply leave without a goodbye. The first chapter is up and great, so I think you should really go over there and check it out._

 _s/12096735/1/As-I-m-Missing-You_

* * *

Clarke maintained that it was Bellamy's stubborn insistence that he remain on the hunting expeditions that lead to it. Bellamy insisted it was the untrustworthiness of the Grounders, then grumbled about how the brand had all been for nothing. Raven was pretty sure it was just because Bellamy could still be an ass some of the time, and Wick agreed with her out of obligation and fear of her wrath. Monty and Jasper had multiple theories, but the central idea behind all of them was something about Bellamy's hero complex and Grounders being stupid.

London had no idea what to think except that she had never seen so much blood come from a single person.

Whatever the case, it was bad enough that Octavia came back for her big brother, afraid she'd be too late, and if Clarke had known how to contact Arkadia, she would have. Unfortunately, or luckily, Bellamy was the only one who knew how to do that, and he wasn't communicating very clearly during most of it.

* * *

The day started off like any other day. Breakfast in the Mess Hall, surrounded by half-built cabins that the kids were happily sleeping in. Clarke and Bellamy met with the Royal Court ("advisors" the two leaders insisted) like they always did to discuss yesterday's progress and the present day's needs.

So Jasper reported that there had been movements in the trees, like there were every night, and Clarke asked _again_ if Arkadia could find them. Bellamy stubbornly insisted they'd lost Arkadia, and Clarke believed him for another twenty four hours, because she desperately needed to. Arkadia was her mother's controlling tendencies and arrests for harmless acts and Bellamy strung up between two poles convulsing and screaming. She was ready to leave that behind.

Raven followed up Jasper's report with a complaint about supplies, and Wick supported her complaint, adding that they couldn't very well create any sort of useful surveillance _anything_ without more supplies. When asked where they'd get the supplies, he suggested trying to track down pieces of the fallen Ark. This was met with quite a few objections, Bellamy saying that Arkadia had already found and taken anything useful from the pieces of the Ark. Wick just snorted and countered that they didn't know what they were looking for, that he and Raven knew their trade far better than anyone left at the Ark, and honestly he wasn't even sure how they weren't getting lost in the woods while going on romantic walks, since really, _no one_ at the Ark was any good compared to Raven and himself.

Clarke hesitantly pointed out that even if Arkadia was well-established at this point, she highly doubted anyone would be going for romantic walks in the woods.

She was ignored.

Miller, who had somehow migrated over to the Royal Court's table with no complaints from the other members of the camp, suggested an organized sweep of the area around them to search for signs someone had in fact been out there the night before, and any supplies found could be picked up along the way.

London found enough courage to point out the shortage of supplies in medical. She and Clarke had been kept pretty busy cleaning up after minor wounds, most inflicted by stupid building accidents. She couldn't even count how many hammer-to-thumb incidents she'd treated in the past few days. That, however, was beside the point, and supplies were going to be needed in case anything big happened. Bellamy immediately asked what supplies, while Clarke tried to insist that they could manage on their own. Bellamy shut her up with a "shut up" and listened intently as London named off various medical supplies including sea weed, bandages, good straight sticks for splints, and thread for stitches. He promised he'd find a way to get them.

This caused an uproar, because Raven and Wick wanted to know why he didn't put as much time into _their_ projects, and accused Bellamy of playing favoritism for medical because Clarke was there. Bellamy just snarled "and if that's why?" and everyone fell silent.

Except Monty, who said that _he_ had something that needed to be dealt with today, and that was food, because, well, they were running low. Medical supplies would keep everyone patched up, he agreed, and whatever Raven and Wick were working on would probably be useful too, but there would be no people to be concerned about if they didn't get more food soon.

So Bellamy stood and announced that he'd be leading a hunting expedition and would leave later that morning. He then promised to keep his eye out for any supplies if he could be given a list.

"List" turned into "lists" and he had to depend on his Princess to write them down on a piece of her drawing paper. Turned out it had a picture of a young wolf pup on the back. Bellamy tried hard to bite back a smile. She'd started drawing again afterall. Clarke, of course, kept telling him they shouldn't go far from camp today, what with the sounds Jasper and his men had heard, but Bellamy knew if they were to survive he'd need to go a bit further than that.

So really, it was a normal morning meeting, except it resulted in an expedition of sorts, the kind of thing that wasn't as common as it had been.

Still, it _did_ result in Bellamy and Clarke having an intense discussion in medical after breakfast, so that was nothing new.


	17. Chapter 14: Something's Not Right

Bellamy slammed the cabinet shut. "Clarke, London's right. You don't have enough in here to take care of any serious injuries."

"You're not in medical, you don't know that," Clarke shot back.

Bellamy groaned, leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms. "Clarke," he dragged out her name in exasperation.

"We can handle it. You have other things to deal with."

"Why don't you talk to me?"

"What? I talk to you."

"Not about the things you need," he pointed out, gesturing at the nearly empty supply cabinet. "The safety of the entire camp is at risk here, and you're too stubborn to come to me for help?"

"No! Ok? No. That is _not_ what's going on here."

"Alright, then explain it to me."

"I know how to replace the supplies, and I'm working on it. I didn't ask you for help because you've already got enough to do. Because you're waking up more than I am. Because you—"

"No, we're not going there," he cut her off. "We need to respect each other as fully capable of our jobs, not keep going around trying to lessen the load."

"Like you are?"

"I'm going on an expedition to find food and supplies. That _is_ my job."

Clarke shut her eyes tightly, not sure how to argue with him anymore. She wasn't angry at him, and she knew he wasn't angry at her. They were just stressed. The temperature had been dropping and they weren't ready for winter yet. "Please don't go out there," she requested quietly.

"What?"

"It's not safe. Jasper's men have been hearing more and more noises at night, and even your scouts are reporting movements."

"It's not safe for anyone," he pointed out. "But we need food."

"Let the others go."

"I can't let them walk into something I wouldn't walk into myself."

She sighed. "I know. But you need to consider the welfare of the camp. What would happen if you didn't come back?"

"You'd lead for me."

"I can't."

"Yes, you could." He straightened. "We leave soon. Make sure your list isn't missing anything. I want this place well-stocked in case I bring back an injured hunter or a cabin falls in on itself."

"Bellamy."

The soft way she said it made him turn away from the door.

"What's wrong?"

Confused, he tilted his head to one side, waiting for her to complete her thought.

"Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Something's just not right."

"Be careful."

"Always, Princess."

* * *

Off they went with guns and empty packs, knives, and anything else they might need. Bellamy led the way out of the gate, gave a confident wave to camp Bellarke, and disappeared into the woods.

It would be the last hunting expedition he led in a long time.


	18. Chapter 16: Girl Time

Uneventful days. Clarke liked those. Those were the days she got to sit in medical, fold bandages, and chat with London about girly things. Raven stopped by and berated them for being such girls, then obligingly took a seat and supplied more conversation along the very same topics. It was almost like they had normal lives again, aside from Clarke running a medical clinic before she was twenty and Raven building bombs and such in her spare time. It was nice. Today was one such day.

Wick's entrance was greeted with three girls screaming at him to "get out!", so his exit was as fast as he could possibly manage. Of course they promptly burst out laughing.

"That look," Clarke gasped. "Oh my gosh that look. Did you see his face?"

"Do you think he was scared for his life? I think he was scared for his life," London giggled.

"He'd better be," Raven threatened with a smile. "Do you fold all those the same way?"

Clarke nodded. "They come unfolded really nicely this way in exactly the shape I want," she explained.

"So many little details," Raven grumbled.

"I know, right?" London agreed. "But they all make sense."

"Don't go complaining about my details when you have more than I do," Clarke warned.

"Mine aren't little," Raven countered. "Every one of them matters. Do something wrong, wire something incorrectly, and things go 'boom!' Fold a bandage incorrectly and I'm pretty sure you could still manage."

"Maybe, but not as efficiently, and sometimes efficiency is important."

"Thank goodness we haven't had to find out," London reminded them. "It's been pretty quiet around here lately."

"I just want to be ready," Clarke explained.

"And _that_ is why no one ever dies around here," Raven announced. "Because Clarke likes to be ready."

"And because we have people who can build stuff that won't fall down, and because we have hunters, and—"

"And a hot Rebel King," Raven finished for her.

"That's not what I was going to say," Clarke disagreed.

"He is though."

"I know he is." When Raven didn't answer, "So?"

"So his harem's been gone for some time."

"Because he's moved past that," Clarke said firmly. "Because he knows better."

"You make him sound like a child who grew up," Raven complained. "It takes away from the hotness factor."

"Isn't he though?" Clarke continued to fold. "Someone who grew up, I mean."

London glanced between the two, wondering if this was tension, or teasing.

"But you don't see him like that," Raven shot back.

"No. No, I don't. But Raven, we've all grown up."

Raven nodded solemnly. "Well, how much thread do you have left before our next victim bleeds out?"

"Not much, but that's something we can always improvise I guess." She started packing things back into the storage closet. She'd taken it all out while making the list for Bellamy.

"Cool." Raven stood, well, staggered, and headed for the door.

"Raven?"

"What's up, Clarke? We were just talking and you had to wait for me to get to the door before you asked me a question?"

"I just, something doesn't seem right."

"Since when has everything _been_ right?"

"Touché."

Raven left.

"Are you two ok?" London asked quietly.

"Raven and I? Just dandy."

"Then what's wrong?"

"That expedition, it should have come back by now."

"Hunting takes time, and they're trying to find supplies too."

"Bellamy was going to break the group into a few different ones so they'd get things done faster. He doesn't like them being out after dark." Clarke glanced worriedly at the door. "The sun is setting."

"It'll be fine."

Clarke stood. "Probably. We should go find out if there's even enough for dinner. Coming?"

"I thought you'd never ask."


	19. Chapter 17: Missing

Much to Clarke's disappointment, she'd been right. The hunting/forging expedition wandered in a little after sunset looking haggard. They did have fresh meat, and plants, so those in charge of food were shaken from their bed rolls and brought out to sort and store the findings. London was summoned to tuck away the supplies that had been found, as was Wick (probably he was sent, since Raven had announced that no one would disturb her sleep that night and live to the next morning).

Clarke spent the time in the hospital patching up minor cuts and bruises, happy to have a fresh set of supplies to do so.

It wasn't until Jasper walked through her door, completely uninjured, that she noticed.

"Where's Bellamy?" she demanded.

"We don't know," Jasper admitted. "He went missing half way through the day."

"Wasn't he working with someone?"

"Yes? No? He wandered off, said he was looking into something."

"And you didn't look for him?"

"Why do you think we're back so late with so little, Clarke?" Jasper countered. "We've been looking for him all afternoon. Can't even find a trail."

"So you left him out there? Alone?"

"Clarke, it's too dark to see. We'll head out again in the morning."

"He'll be dead by then!"

"Please keep your voice down," Monty advised as he joined them. "Clarke, just think about it. We're at peace with the Grounders, and there are no more Mountain Men. Arkadia's the only other group of people out there, and they might not like Bellamy, but they're not about to kill him. Probably they'd just take him home and try to get him to talk. He'll just escape again. While I do think it important to find him, there really aren't many dangers left out there that you need to worry about."

"I told him it was a bad idea," Clarke grumbled. "I said he shouldn't go out with you guys."

No one argued with her.


	20. Chapter 18: Found

The search teams the following day turned up nothing.

The following day, the result was the same.

Morale started to fall, and even Monty's moonshine couldn't lift the spirits of the camp.

It wasn't until the third day since he had gone missing that Jasper summoned them to the gates.

"Is he dead?"

"Is that _Bellamy_?"

"What happened?"

"Where was he?"

"Who found him?"

"Who found him before _we_ found him?"

Clarke's voice rose above all the rest. "Get him to medical. _Now_."


	21. Chapter 19: Ready the Room

The clomping of feet in the hall startled London and she dropped the basket of freshly washed ( _and_ dried!) bandages.

"London!" someone shouted.

"Looooondon!" another called before she had the chance to respond.

"In the storage room!" she called back, kneeling to collect the bandages. Clarke would not be happy. She liked things well organized, folded carefully, looking like a real hospital. London understood that, and this mess on the floor was _not_ that.

More clambering, then the door behind her (which had been open) smashed against the wall and three panting teens stood in its opening. "London!" they gasped simultaneously.

"Yes, hello, that's me," she greeted them, still gathering the bandages.

"Clarke, she needs you," one of them said.

"Bellamy."

"In the other room."

"No, she said to get an exam room ready."

"They don't just keep them ready? I thought they kept them ready."

"Well anyway Clarke's on the way."

"She wants a room."

"For Bellamy."

"They found him."

"He looks broken."

"Like a giant scab."

"Gross, actually."

"SHUT UP!" London screamed at them, her stress levels only continuing to escalate. What were they even saying? If she was needed, she needed to know that. "You," she pointed at one, "talk to me."

"Oh, I don't actually know anything. I just followed them here," he admitted. "Sorry."

London gave a huff of frustration. "Alright, you. Talk."

"They found Bellamy and he looks like he died and Clarke wants you to have an exam room ready with water and bandages and stuff."

"Ok. Thank you."

They stood there, just staring at her like she was going to save the world and they were going to watch or be told what to do. Honestly, they looked like lost little puppies.

"Now you can leave," London directed.

"But we want to help," the one who didn't know anything offered.

"No. Get out. This is something for Clarke and the Royal Court. Make sure if they're not on their way already, the Royal Court heads over here. Send Miller too."

"The Royal Court, to medical," one muttered. "Got it. Royal Court to medical. Royal court to medical."

London couldn't take it anymore. She left the room and didn't wait to see if they'd made it to the door. She was headed for the well out back. On her way, she dropped the bandages off in the room closest to the door. If Bellamy was hurt that badly, she highly doubted anyone wanted to carry him any further than the first exam room.


	22. Chapter 20: Broken

Clarke pointed to the door that swung open. "There. Put him in that room," she directed. Behind her, Jasper was muttering something about peace treaties. She chose to ignore him. Well, not completely ignore him. "What happened?"

"We don't know," Jasper confessed. "We just found him in a clearing like this. Not tied up, not missing anything, just like we'd left him. Only, you know, less _broken_."

"We don't know if he's broken, Jasper," Clarke corrected him firmly, checking pulse and temperature while she spoke.

"Er, not him necessarily, but that arm looks unnatural," Jasper corrected himself. "I think _it_ 's broken. Shouldn't you fix it?"

"I think a lot of things are broken," Clarke countered angrily. "And I think that there are more important issues at hand than a broken arm."

London staggered into the room, sloshing a bucket of water all over her legs as she waddled to carry it. "Clarke, I have the—oh! Is he, is he…?"

"He's alive," Clarke confirmed. "Cut his clothes off."

"What?" London stared at her blankly.

"He's not talking, and we can't see the full extent of his injuries. Cut his clothes off," Clarke explained, handing her apprentice a knife.

Slowly, the Royal Court trickled in to watch Clarke work. They stood at the back of the room, out of her way, horrified and fascinated by how efficient she and London were.

Bellamy was allowed to keep his boxers because Clarke pronounced no injuries "to that area" which meant no need to remove them. Other than that, he was completely stripped. Then, while London washed off the blood, Clarke moved right behind her and examined the wounds.

"Broken ribs," Clarke could be heard to mutter. "Four, five, six, all on the left, fourteen on the right…a kick maybe? Arm completely broken, needs setting and splinting. Multiple bruises and abrasions…."

"Stab wound," London cut her off. "Losing lots of blood."

Clarke moved up to where London was working on Bellamy's abdomen. "Good," she praised her apprentice. "I need clean cloth, a sterilized knife, Monty's moonshine, and a thread and needle."

London handed over the knife and cloth, then went to find the other items named.

"Deep but nothing vital is hit," Clarke went back to muttering.

Raven nearly lost her dinner when she watched Clarke shove her hands into Bellamy's stomach. She wasn't sure what was worse, the fact that Bellamy hadn't reacted, or that Clarke literally had her hands inside his body at the moment. "Why are we here?" Raven whispered.

"In case he wakes up," Miller answered. "If he wakes up, he's not going to hold still."

Clarke held up her hand, grasping the bottle of moonshine that was placed into it. Pouring a significant amount around the wound, she began to clean the area with the clean cloth London had handed her. Then she pulled out a wickedly sized arrowhead, dropped it on the floor, and threaded her needle.

Bellamy moaned.

"Damn," Clarke ground out, stitching as quickly as she could. "Miller, guys, be ready. He _cannot_ move."

Another groan, followed by slight shifting on the bed.

"Stop it!" Clarke yelled, knowing full well that if Bellamy moved too much right now he'd bleed out. How he hadn't already was a mystery to her.

He coughed, turned his head, and vomited blood.

"Do you think, Clarke, should we be—" Monty began hesitantly.

"No," Clarke cut him off, still focused on her stitching. "It's not what Murphy brought. It's from internal bleeding and trauma. Just make sure he doesn't drown."

"Wanheda," Bellamy moaned in his semi-conscious state.

Clarke paled. He didn't call her that. Never would. He knew how much that name hurt her, what it actually meant. "Bellamy, shut up and go back to sleep," she begged.

"Wan-heda," he tried again. "Please."

Please what? Clarke didn't know, and she didn't care. Nothing he could say would change her mind, unless he could give her a catalogue of injuries or explain who had inflicted them.

"Jasper, Monty, go outside and lock down all the gates. Make sure no one leaves camp. Have them do everything as normal," Clarke directed.

The two left without arguing, too afraid of Clarke's determination to cross her at the moment.

"Aha!" Bellamy cried, lurching upward.

"Hold still!" Clarke shouted at him.

But Bellamy wouldn't hold still, not when Clarke was sewing up an incredibly tender wound in his stomach. He tried to sit up again, but every attempt made it nearly impossible to breathe.

"He's going to puncture a lung with his broken ribs," Clarke warned. "Hold him down. London, hot metal. Now."

London disappeared, then returned a moment later with the nearest hottest metal she could find.

Clarke pressed the spear to Bellamy's wound and the stench of burnt skin filled the room.

Blinded by the smoke, and deafened by Bellamy's screams, no one had any idea what to do or think. Raven was sure they should be thinking about who had done this and why. Wick suspected he should be doing something about weapons, but couldn't form a coherent thought at the moment. Everyone else was in a similar state, knowing what they _should_ be thinking about, but unable to do so.

All Clarke knew was that she was not going to let Bellamy die. She couldn't.

"Wanheda," he sobbed. "Run."


	23. Chapter 21: Council of the Royal Court

Clarke shook her tired hands, then wiped the rest of the water on her pants.

"You're not done," Raven observed, the first words she had spoken in a long time. She'd just sat there, watching Clarke clean and bandage and mutter.

"No, but we all need a break," Clarke responded. Her hands were shaking so she put them on her hips, attempting to regain some sort of authority in the room. "I can't work on him anymore at the moment. If I do, we might lose him. So right now we talk." She pointed to the door. The Royal Court followed her out, London staying behind to monitor the patient. "What happened?" Clarke asked again.

"We don't know," Jasper gave her the same answer he had before. "We just found him like that. Don't _you_ know?"

"Oh, sure," Clarke snarled sarcastically. "He was beaten, kicked, shot, and who knows what else. That tells me nothing."

"We know there were people involved," Monty said hastily. "He didn't do this to himself by falling out of a tree or something, and there was no wild animal involved. Was there?"

"No animal inflicted wounds that I could see," Clarke confirmed.

"So he was tortured then," Miller observed. "Great. That's just great."

"Do you think he broke?" Raven asked innocently. When everyone spun to glare at her, she glared right back. "What? He's human. He could have broken after three days. Did none of you see what I just saw?"

"He said something about Wanheda," Wick recalled.

"He was begging Clarke for something," Jasper added.

"Wanheda," Clarke corrected. "Not me. Wanheda."

"Same thing..." Wick trailed off when he saw the expressions on the others' faces. "My bad. I misunderstood. Keep going with your great deductive reasoning skills."

"He said to run," Clarke reminded them. "He told us to run."

"No," Raven corrected. "He told _you_ to run."

"I don't understand," Clarke confessed. "He never calls me Wanheda."

"Alright, so we know he was tortured by humans, and they were probably Grounders, because even Kane can't be _this_ mad at him, and besides, they were talking about Wanheda. If he doesn't use the name himself, he had to have heard it over and over for him to say it when he's only semi-conscious," Raven concluded.

Silence.

"What? Does someone have a better idea?"

"No, we're just trying to process what that means," Monty confessed.

"It means Bellamy was tortured by Grounders who are—"

"No, we know what it _means_ ," Monty corrected, "we're just stuck on what we do next."

"We put the camp on lock down," Clarke decided.

"What about the truce?"

This time, Jasper was completely ignored.

"We don't know who's out there, what they want, or why they did this. Until Bellamy wakes up and gives us more information, no one leaves this camp," Clarke announced. "No discussion."

When they all just stood there, staring at her, she nearly exploded, "Well? Get moving! Spread the word. Make sure we have armed guards, more than normal, and do a supply count to see how long we can last like this. Move!"

They hastily ran out the door like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs. Only Raven remained. "Clarke," she started.

London poked her head in the hallway. "He's waking up."

"Not now, Raven," Clarke said, disappearing into the room again and shutting the door behind her.


	24. Chapter 22: He Loves You

"What happened?" Clarke demanded even as she moved across the room to the patient.

"He just started muttering something and moving his head," London reported. "He sounds like he's having a hard time breathing."

"He will, with all the broken ribs he has and the trauma to his chest and abdomen," Clarke explained. "Bellamy? Bellamy, can you hear me?"

He coughed and blood splattered on the front of Clarke's shirt.

"Hey there," she murmured, smoothing his hair back. "I need to know if you can hear me."

A deep gurgling breath. "Clarke?"

Clarke visibly relaxed. "Hello, Bellamy. Quite a mess you got yourself into. Anything you can tell me that'll help me fix things and keep the others safe?"

Bellamy's eyes grew wide. "Run," he gasped. "Please run."

"I'm not leaving you, not even if you're dead, so you're going to need to give me more than just a 'please run'."

"She's gone," he continued. "She le—Octavia." He gave a delirious smile. "Not ribbon. Dance."

"What's he talking about?" London wanted to know.

Clarke just shook her head. That wasn't for sharing. "Bellamy, it's me, Clarke. I need to know who did this to you."

"O, tell Wanheda. Run."

"Bellamy," Clarke's voice rose with her desperation.

"Tell Mom." He smiled again before starting to cough uncontrollably. It was a wet cough that produced blood.

"He's drowning," Clarke realized. "He's drowning. London, get the tubing from the closet. We need a chest tube before he drowns in his own blood."

London dashed out the door. Clarke turned Bellamy on his side slightly and raised his unbroken arm above his head. Bellamy groaned, not delirious enough to avoid the pain. "This is going to hurt like hell," Clarke revealed. "But I'm going to keep you alive."

The door slammed against the wall, and London was suddenly shoving the tubing and a knife into Clarke's hands.

"Hold his arm up like this," Clarke directed. "I don't think he's strong enough to fight you, but this is going to hurt."

Clarke pressed the knife against his skin, slowly piercing it. Bellamy whimpered as though he was struggling to keep silent. She pressed deeper. Bellamy let out a howl of pain. Unable to see the incision, Clarke blinked back the tears in her eyes. The hand with the tubing shook, but she slowly and carefully inserted it into his chest. Bellamy's cries of pain became desperate and helpless, growing less guttural and more high pitched. He was just a kid, Clarke realized. They were all just kids, but here she was, inserting a chest tube into a semi-conscious man to save his life.

"Clarke?"

"We're good," Clarke responded. "It's good. You can let go of his arm. Alright. We did it."

London chanced a peak, finding plastic tubing inserted in Bellamy's side, blood running out of it. She shuddered. "Now what?"

"Now we wait."

"But his arm, and the ribs, and…"

"And if we do anything else to him right now, we're going to overload his system," Clarke explained. "Waiting a day isn't going to allow his arm to set in the wrong position."

"Alright. Then you need to take a break," London directed.

"I am."

"No, you're not. Step away from the bed, we can tell whether he's dying from a few feet away. You don't need to be that close." London took Clarke by the arms and guided her back to the water bucket. She gently forced Clarke's hands into the pail and washed them until the water had turned red. Then she drew them out and pressed a clean towel (or piece of fabric serving as a towel) into her hands. "Dry."

Clarke did so.

"Now sit there, on the chair, and talk to me," London ordered.

"About what?"

"About anything."

Clarke sat. "I don't know what to say."

"What do we see here?" London pointed to Bellamy.

"Several beatings, mostly to the chest area. Kicking, from what I can tell. The arrow wound is older than the rest, probably how he was captured. I don't understand how he didn't bleed out. Broken ribs, always a risk of puncturing a lung. Some sort of trauma to the chest, but I'm not sure what. Broken arm, bones cracked all the way through, it'll be hard to set it. He was beaten badly, London."

"I know," London agreed. "Talk to me."

"He looks horrible."

"Yes."

"He's in so much pain."

"Uh huh."

"So much. He's lost so much blood, and I don't know if it's the blood or the pain, but he's delirious. He's also dehydrated."

"And he feels…?"

"Absolutely horrible. And I wish there were something I could do for him, but I can't. And right now, everything that I _do_ need to do for him is just going to hurt."

"It will."

"And this is probably my fault to begin with," Clarke confessed.

"How do you reckon that?"

"I didn't tell the others, because it's not important until Bellamy talks to us."

"Tell them what?"

"He keeps calling me Wanheda and telling me to run. I think someone is coming for me."

"You think they wanted information from him," London guessed.

"Yes."

"You think this," London gestured at Bellamy's beaten body, "is because of you."

"Yes."

"You're wrong."

"You don't know that. No one knows what happened."

"I know that, even if you're right, it's not because of you," London said.

"You're not making any sense."

"This could never be because of you. This could only be _for_ you."

"I don't understand."

"Look at him. Look at you. No one's come to get you, have they? That means Bellamy didn't break, at least not enough to tell them what they wanted to know. And if they were looking for you, then he didn't tell them anything, and here we all are, safe and relatively sound. That's not _because_ of you, that's _for_ you. It's a choice he made to protect you, and it looks like he's succeeded."

She couldn't do it anymore. Clarke had cried alone, but she hadn't spoken to anyone about her feelings, and certainly not the full reality of what was going on, and it finally overcame her. Tears ran down her dusty and bloody cheeks. "He keeps doing that," she sobbed. "With going into Mount Weather, and getting stabbed in the leg by Roan, and then the shock lashing, and now this, and so many other times. He keeps _doing_ that and he shouldn't."

"Why not?" London wanted to know.

"Because this is what happens to him!" Clarke cried, pointing.

"And you're alright."

"And I don't want to be!" she wailed past her tears. "For once, for once I want to take some of it so he doesn't end up like this. He's stupid, that's what he is."

"He's in love," London said quietly.

"He's _what_?" Clarke sniffed, wiping the tears from her face.

"He's in love," London said again. "Did you not know this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

London laughed. She actually laughed. She couldn't help it. The whole situation was ridiculous and insane and after everything Clarke could stand there and say she didn't know something so simple?

"Nothing about this situation is funny," Clarke growled.

"No, you're right, it's not," London apologized. "I just, I don't understand how you can't know this. Everyone in camp knows it."

"Knows what?"

"Bellamy loves you."

"No. Bellamy loves his sister."

London snorted. "He doesn't love you like that, Clarke. He kissed you, didn't he?"

"That doesn't mean—"

"I think it does," London cut her off. "And should we look at his track record? What does Bellamy do when he loves someone? He makes sure nothing bad happens to them. He protects them, and looks after them, and is generally selfless. Is that not what this is?"

"I'm his co-leader. He'd do this for any of his people."

"Maybe," London conceded. "But do you honestly think he would've had the strength to hold out this long mentally unless it was something _very_ important to him?"

"I still think you're wrong," Clarke announced, standing up.

"Well this time I'm right," London maintained. "Clarke, Bellamy Blake loves you. Love isn't a feeling. It's an action. It's wanting the best for someone, and then doing what you can to get it for them. That's exactly what he's doing."

"He's dying."

"Not if you have any say in the matter."

Clarke shook her head, exasperated.

"Go lay down for a while," London recommended. "I'll stay here and watch him. Don't worry, I'll get you if anything changes."

"I don't think—"

"This is not up for discussion. You nearly inserted that chest tube wrong because you're so tired and stressed. Go sleep. Like you said, the rest of this can be finished tomorrow."

Clarke offered a tired smile. "Thank you, London."

"Goodnight, Clarke."


	25. Chapter 23: Stalemate

Clarke slept fitfully, but sleep she did. Actually, she dosed for five minutes, then jumped up and ran down the hall only to be stopped at the room door by London, who calmly said nothing had changed and to go back to bed. This happened several times before London flat out yelled at Clarke and threatened to put a guard at her door if she didn't stay there for more than ten minutes. Clarke grumbled something about being worried and stomped back down the hall.

There was a lot of grumbling going on around camp. People wanted to know what had happened (no one knew). They wanted to go out to canvass the area (Clarke forbid it). They were worried about food (there was enough for three weeks). They could hear Bellamy's screams (he wouldn't be silenced). And so on and so forth.

Eventually, no longer than a day or two, Bellamy was silenced. And this was far worse. His silence resulted in Clarke first coming out of medical only to eat as quickly as possible. Eventually, she didn't come out at all and people brought food in to her. The Royal Court first stopped making loud jokes, and then barely smiled at all. They mingled very little with the others in the camp, but this only served to stress out everyone else since they had no idea what was going on.

Finally, Wick, who tended to mingle with the masses more than the others in the Royal Court, called for an emergency meeting with the Princess. They gathered in the room across the hall from Bellamy and London was left to make sure the Rebel King didn't die during the meeting. At this point, it was a legitimate concern.


	26. Chapter 24: Gathering of the Royal Court

Clarke stood by the door, arms crossed, glancing across the hallway every now and then. "What's going on?" she asked.

"What's going on?" Wick echoed. "Maybe we should start his meeting again. Hello everyone, thanks for coming. Alright Clarke, what's going on?"

"I just asked that," she shot back.

"Right, but we're not the ones who have to answer it, you are," Wick explained. "So?"

"I don't understand what this meeting is about," Clarke said. "Why are we meeting when I should be across the hall?"

"London has it," Monty assured her. "Right now you're needed here."

"Clarke," Raven tried hard to sound agreeable, "the rest of the kids out there are freaking out. They have no idea what's going on, they're scared because they can't leave the camp, and they want to know what happened to Bellamy."

"Great, so we have everything in common then," Clarke snapped.

"Whoa, hey, we're not mad at you," Jasper assured her. "Ok, some of us are, but that's not why we're here. We're here because we need a plan of action."

"We had one. You keep everyone inside the gates and fed, and I keep Bellamy alive."

"We don't need a plan of action," Wick interrupted. "We need an answer to a simple question: is he going to live?"

The others stared at him, sure it was the last they would see of Wick.

"I don't know, ok?" Clarke nearly screamed at him. "I don't know! I don't know how he wasn't dead when you found him, much less now. I'm doing my best but I don't know!"

"Hey, whoa, we know you're doing your best," Monty consoled.

"Maybe there's some update you can give us," Miller suggested carefully. "Something we could tell the others so they're not as in the dark. That might make them feel a little safer."

"How about: he's been delirious for a few days now and has a nasty fever and speaks complete nonsense?" Clarke offered. "My update is that he's not bleeding out anymore and he's almost completely patched up, except the tube stuck in his chest wall, but he's barely remaining stable. Right now, stable isn't a good thing. Because stable means he's barely alive, and I have no idea what else to do."

"Could we contact the Arkadia? Maybe your mom or Jackson know how to help," Jasper proposed.

"No."

"Clarke, maybe it's best for everyone if we just—" Miller began.

"We can't," Clarke cut him off. "Only Bellamy knows how to contact them."

"Okaaaay, I'm not even going to ask why that seemed like a good idea to you two," Raven muttered angrily.

"Is there _anything_ we can do?" Wick wanted to know.

"Don't you think I've done it?" Clarke responded. "I've done everything I know how to do. I'm out of ideas."

Before anyone could respond, the door to Medical slammed against the wall and one of the sentries stood there, panting.

"Hey, Aiden, what's going on?" Jasper asked.

"The gate," Aiden panted. "At the gate."

"What's at the gate?"

"Octavia."


	27. Chapter 25: Answers

Hey guys! Thanks for continuing to read and review! Please forgive a chapter or two as I try to find the proper voices for Octavia and Lincoln. In the meantime, try to enjoy the story even if their dialogue isn't quite there yet. Thanks!

* * *

"Octavia," Clarke breathed as the girl strode through the door. She looked like the Grounder Warrior she had become. "What're you doing here?"

"I came for my stupid brother," Octavia ground out.

Lincoln was right behind her. "We received news that someone from your camp had been captured and tortured by rogue Ice Nation warriors who still want the power of Wanheda," he explained. "From the description, Octavia determined it was Bellamy."

"I assume she was right," Clarke replied. "We don't actually know what happened to him, since he hasn't said anything that makes sense."

"Where is he?" Octavia demanded. "How is he?"

"Octavia," Clarke cautioned, "he's really bad."

"Where is he?" Octavia repeated. "I need to see him."

"In here." Clarke opened the door and lead the two in.

London's eyes grew wide. "Who—"

"London, this is Octavia, Bellamy's sister, and her boyfriend—"

"Husband," Lincoln corrected.

"Husband," Clarke said slowly, giving Octavia a clear "we need to talk" look, "Lincoln. They have more information on what happened to Bellamy, which they heard about from other sources."

"Why don't they live here?" London asked innocently.

"Bellamy's an ass," Octavia responded before turning all her attention on her brother.

"Not always," London said carefully. "He and Clarke—"

"He and Clarke? There's a Bellamy and Clarke now?" Lincoln looked mildly amused.

"Well yes, but—" London was cut off again.

"I never thought he'd dare."

"Dare?"

"Never mind. Doesn't matter. It's about time," Lincoln said instead. "How is he, Octavia?"

"I don't know. He just looks bad. What's that?"

"A chest tube," Clarke explained. "He was drowning from internal bleeding, so we inserted it so he could breathe."

"And I assume that means his arm is broken," Octavia continued.

"Along with various ribs, yes," Clarke confirmed. "And that there is a really nasty arrow wound. It's not healing well."

Lincoln leaned closer to take a look. "Poison," he observed.

"I don't think so," Clarke objected. "It looks nothing like Finn's stab wound."

"A different kind," Lincoln explained. "Ice Nation."

"How does it work?"

Octavia knelt next to Bellamy's bed and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Hey big brother," she whispered. "You're not looking so great."

"Ice Nation uses a poison that works a lot like ice does," Lincoln struggled to explain. "It kills the areas it touches, like frostbite, but doesn't harm anything else."

"I don't understand why it's not healing then."

"Because it can't. The cells that need to connect, to bring healing, they aren't working where they need to because that area is dead. Think of it as though there needs to be a bridge built between one side of the wound and the other. You can't build a bridge if the banks aren't sturdy, and the banks of the wound aren't sturdy and won't support a bridge because they're dead."

"So we need to debride," Clarke realized.

"Need to what?" London asked.

"We need to cut away the dead skin so the new skin can set in and heal the area," Clarke explained. "Once we've done that, he can finally start to heal." She turned to Lincoln. "You're sure that's what this is?"

Lincoln nodded. "Yes. I have seen it before."

"How do your people treat it?"

"We don't," Lincoln confessed. "I've never heard of what you're talking about."

"It'll help," Clarke said confidently. "If it is what you say, then debridement should help."

Octavia looked up at them then, and Clarke saw something on her face she'd never seen before. Where the dirt on her cheeks had been, two tear streaks ran down her face. "He can't hear me," she whimpered. "He doesn't know I'm here."

Clarke knelt next to her. "He will, Octavia," she promised. "We just need to get him through this. Having you here should help. He keeps talking about you when he is awake."

"Does he know what he's saying?"

"He knows that he wants you back," was all Clarke would say.

"He looks so miserable," Octavia observed.

"I think he is," Clarke admitted. "But he made it this far. He lived through whatever the Ice Nation rogues did to him. I'm going to make sure it wasn't for nothing."

"They're after you, Clarke," Lincoln revealed.

Clarke nodded. "I know. We'll figure something out. Right now, we need to focus on making sure Bellamy survives the night." She turned to London. "Have Miller find a place for Lincoln to stay the night," she directed. "Octavia will be staying here with me."

"Clarke, we're married," Octavia reminded her.

"And pregnant," Clarke agreed. "But your brother is here, and we need to talk, and I'm not separating you for the reasons you think."

"How did you know?" Octavia asked, genuinely shocked.

Clarke offered a small smile as she stood. "I'm a doctor, Octavia. I know."

London, who had exited when no one was looking, returned with Miller. "Miller, this is Lincoln. Lincoln, Miller. Clarke said you should find a place for him to stay."

"Sure. Follow me."

Lincoln gave his wife a comforting glance before leaving the room with Miller.

"London, we have an operation to perform," Clarke announced.

"I want to stay," Octavia spoke up.

"Octavia, I don't think that's a very good idea," Clarke cautioned.

"I need to be with him, Clarke."

"Alright. You can stay. But you need to stay out of our way."

"I can do that."

"Good. London, let's get started."


	28. Chapter 26: Siblings

Hello, folks! Thank you for continuing to read. I have not abandoned you. School started, and life has suddenly gotten very busy for me. But I do intend to keep writing this. I humbly suggest you favorite or follow the story so you can receive updates whenever one is made, instead of having to check, since I won't be able to be as regular as I was before. Still, I appreciate your continued readership, and I hope you enjoy! I am always open to suggestions.

* * *

Octavia could hear the water swishing as Clarke washed her hands. London had already stepped out, what with the procedure finished and all. Unfortunately, Bellamy hadn't regained consciousness like Clarke had expected him to.

"Octavia, we need to talk," Clarke said, turning to face the girl.

"Not now, Clarke," Octavia replied. She was too tired to even convey the anger and frustration she felt. She and Lincoln had traveled a long way in a short amount of time in their desperate attempt to arrive before Bellamy died—if he died. She suspected being pregnant was also draining her energy, but she didn't really know anything about it. Maybe Clarke would. They did need to talk, but later. "I need to be with my brother."

"Alright. I'll be down the hall if you need anything." Clarke left.

Octavia sat on the stump by the bed. "Hey, big brother," she greeted him. "You look awful."

No response. She wasn't surprised.

"Just so you know, I'm still mad at you for being stupid," she continued. "You shouldn't have followed Pike. I'm glad you changed your ways or whatever and got us out safely, but I still think you're an ass. Just so we're clear."

Still nothing.

"And I'm sorry this happened. We tried to get there when we heard they were after Clarke, but I guess they got you first." She gave a little laugh. "Who am I kidding? Clarke's alive, and you look like crap. Of course they got you first."

A feverish mumble, but no real words.

"Remember when I said that you got everyone killed? Mom, and the people in Mount Weather, and everyone else? I kind of overlooked something. Since you're not actually listening, I'm going to say it out loud: you sure do your darnedest to protect the people you care about. I feel like that's something everyone knows, especially after they found you in the forest looking like this. But I wanted to remind you of that, because you have a bad habit of blaming yourself for all the stuff that goes wrong, and not taking credit for anything that goes right. And Bell? We're alive because you did something to make things go right."

A cough. "Octavia?"

"Bellamy?" she was close to tears now.

"Octavia," he croaked.

"Hey." She put a hand on his forehead. "You look horrible."

"Feel it," he groaned. "Clarke?"

She smiled. Leave it to him to ask about her. "Clarke's fine."

"Lincoln?"

"Here somewhere." She held up her hand where a wooden band circled one finger. "We got married, Bellamy."

"Married?"

"Yes."

"Without me?"

"Sorry. We couldn't find you."

"Happy?"

"Yes. Finally, yes. And you?"

His weak chuckle turned into a pained cough. "Not married," he barely got out.

Octavia helped him drink some water. "Well that's obvious," she informed him. "Clarke didn't have a ring last I checked."

"It's not—"

"Oh don't even try to lie to me, Bell."

"How…how'd you find us?"

"We heard some rebel Ice Nation men were still hunting Wanheda. We were on our way here to warn you after we heard on good authority that you'd be somewhere in this area."

"They got me."

"Yeah, we know."

"They want Clarke."

"We know that too."

"I told them…told them…no."

Octavia suspected he wanted to say something else, but couldn't find the words. That was fine. She got the general idea. "Do you know where they might be?"

"No." Suddenly a look of panic crossed his face. "Need to leave," he said urgently. His attempt to sit up was accompanied by a scolding from Octavia and a cry of pain from himself.

"They locked down the camp, Bell. Lie down and try to rest. You can work everything out later."

"O?"

"Yes?"

"I'm scared, O."


	29. Chapter 27: My Brother's An Ass

Hey guys! I am SOOOOO sorry I haven't been keeping up with this like I first was. Rest assured I do want to at least get Bellamy back on his feet (and hope to continue doing short one-shots of life in Camp Bellarke). School has just been VERY busy lately, and I have had little time to do anything but. Know I am still working on the story though, and will post as often as I can. Thank you for continuing to read!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Clarke?"

The quite voice drew Clarke's attention away from her careful cleaning of her surgical tools. "Octavia." She turned away from the water bucket. "Come in. Have a seat."

Octavia did. "You wanted to talk."

"Yes. I did." Clarke put down the scalpel in her hand. "How are you?"

"Fine. Angry. Tired. Scared. How are you?"

Small smile. "About the same. Where have you been?"

"Honestly? We wandered for a while before finding a little village that welcomed us. We have a hut and everything there. I finally found a home, Clarke."

"Without your brother."

"My brother's an ass."

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Clarke admitted. "He very well _can_ be that some days, but he's changed."

"Yeah. Somehow he managed to convince you to be part of his harem."

"Bellamy hasn't had a harem for nearly a year," Clarke reminded her firmly. "That's not what's going on."

"Really? Because it seems like it. Aside from looking like crap, he hasn't changed. He nearly caused Lincoln's death, you know, after being the one who _tortured_ him when we first found him, and he caused all sorts of issues by not stopping Pike."

Clarke sighed. "It's complicated, Octavia. Yes, he's made mistakes. _Lots_ of mistakes. But you haven't been around recently, and things have changed dramatically. For one, we're out here now and not with the Arc."

"I noticed."

"Do you want the story, or would you rather just stay angry at him?"

No response.

"Why did you come back, Octavia?"

"I was hoping to find my brother a changed man. I was wrong to hope for the impossible. People don't change." Octavia stood. "Look, I love my brother. Don't get me wrong. I just don't approve of anything he's done for a very long time, and he's hurt me too much for me to just let it go."

Clarke clasped Octavia's wrist and pulled her back down. "Sit. I'm going to tell you a story."

"I'm too old for story time, Clarke. I'm pregnant. I grew up before you did."

"We've both grown," Clarke said as calmly as she could. "Sit and listen."

Octavia glared but sat, probably too tired to move. She took the cup of water Clarke offered and drank gratefully.

"Once upon a time, there were political issues in Arkadia," Clarke began. "The original 100 wasn't being listened to and treated as they should have been. They knew the earth better than anyone, but their voices were turned down as being those of 'kids.' They had grown up, but were being forced to try to live the lives of 'kids' once again. Tensions rose. Bad decisions were made, and their Rebel King made a desperate move. The Chancellor caught him, and the Rebel King was shock lashed in front of the whole camp as an example. So he and the Princess stayed in his tent and, while he fought off deadly fevers and suffered for his people, they plotted out the escape of the 100. Then, when he had barely regained his ability to walk, the Rebel King and the Princess lead their people out into the wilderness, leaving behind loved ones for the greater good of the 100. They founded their own camp, established their own government, made their own treaties, and became a nation to be reckoned with."

Clarke paused, checking to see that Octavia was still listening. The girl hadn't moved.

"All seemed well until the Rebel King decided to go hunting on a day like any other day. He didn't come back. Three days were spent searching before his broken and nearly dead body was found. Ever since then, the Rebel King has been fighting for his life, and his people have been worried for theirs. That, Octavia, is your brother's story right now. That's the story of everyone in this camp. We've changed. You, me, your brother, all of us. None of us is the same as we were even a few months ago." Clarke looked the young woman in the eyes. " _That_ is the story."

"They shock lashed him?" Octavia whispered. "In front of everyone?"

Clarke nodded, said nothing.

Octavia sat for a moment, completely silent. Then, "He's still an ass, but I should've been there."

"You had no way of knowing."

"I shouldn't have left him. He never would have let that happen to me." But Octavia never stayed sad for long. She redirected her sadness to anger at someone, it was just who she was. "Why did you let that happen to him? I know you and Bellamy have your differences, but I can't _believe_ you let them do that to him! He didn't deserve that, no matter how horrible he's been. Who he is, what he's been through, public shock lashing isn't something he should ever be faced with."

"I know," Clarke agreed. "He shouldn't, but it was necessary."

"You could've broken out sooner."

"Octavia, things were very complicated."

"How could you?!"

"Bellamy and I talked about it," Clarke tried again.

"Oh, you talked about it," Octavia mocked. "Did it go something like, 'Bellamy, they're going to beat you in front of your people, and you just have to watch' and 'Please, Clarke, don't let them do this' and 'It has to happen, there aren't any other options'? Because I feel like that's exactly how it went down."

"It was complicated," Clarke insisted. "It was Bellamy's choice."

"Like hell it was," Octavia spat.

"It was. He did things that didn't leave him a way out, and it was in the best interest for everyone if we waited. It's hard to explain, Octavia. Sometimes we have to make tough choices."

"Sure we do," Octavia agreed. "But we don't make those tough choices about family or people who are close to us. That's when we walk through brick walls. Did you walk through a brick wall, Clarke? No, you didn't."

"I tried," Clarke argued. "I really did. Please don't doubt that. Your brother…I love him. I never want to see him hurt. It was the only way."

"Oh great," Octavia mocked. "Now you let him get beaten because you love him. Cause _that_ makes sense."

"You left him because you love him."

Octavia fell silent.

"I understand," Clarke said quietly. "I know you left because you loved him. Because he did things you couldn't stand, but you couldn't take your anger out on him because you loved him. You left for fear of what you might do. You left to protect the true Bellamy in your mind, the one you knew was real, not the monster you were seeing then. You left to let him work through his problems without a little sister to watch after. I know you left because you love him. Please believe me when I say that what I did was only because of how much I value him."

"'Value.' That's a strange word, Clarke, for someone who speaks so highly of love."

Clarke sighed. "I don't want to fight, Octavia. We've made mistakes. You're here now, and your brother isn't dead, at least for the night. Why don't you tell me about the baby?"

Octavia managed a small smile. "Three months," she revealed. "I think I'm about three months along. So far it's been alright."

"Are you happy?"

"About the baby?"

"About being married. About the baby. About your new home. About everything."

"Yes." Octavia gave a genuine smile, something Clarke hadn't seen on the girl's face in so long. "Yes, I'm actually happy. It's been so long, but I'm happy."

Clarke smiled back. "I'm glad. Are you going to stay here?"

"I don't know," Octavia confessed. "We might go back to our hut, or we might stay here. Lincoln and I haven't talked about it yet. Most of our conversation was focused around a stupid brother and rogue Ice Nation men who should know better. We hadn't really gotten to what we were going to do once we got here."

"Well, know that you're always welcome."

"Thank you, Clarke."

"Thank you for coming to find us, Octavia," Clarke countered. "Bellamy needed it, but so did I."


	30. Chapter 28: A Royal Conversation

Hey folks! Not exactly my best dialogue, but this time around I went with posting something, _anything_ , instead of delaying longer. Hoping to get on a more regular schedule soon. In the meantime, thank you for continuing to read!

* * *

Clarke was washing and rewrapping bandages when Bellamy woke.

"Clarke?" he croaked.

She stopped cleaning. "Rebel King," she greeted him. "How're you feeling?"

His weak smile was all she needed to know she didn't want the answer to that.

"Why're you here?" he asked, words coming with more strength this time.

"Because you went and got yourself almost killed, and I've made it my goal to make sure you don't die," Clarke responded. "It's an awful lot of work. I'd prefer if you didn't do something like this again."

He didn't even smile at her joke. "They're coming for you," he said instead. "Leave. Please leave."

"You honestly think I would do that? You and my people are here. I'm not leaving." She returned to cleaning.

Bellamy grunted with pain when she pressed especially hard, but managed to remain relatively silent. "You can't die, Clarke. Run."

She stopped and dropped the wet cloth on his bare chest. "I'm not going to leave you. I did that once, and that was one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. We both know that."

"This, all of this, it was to make sure you wouldn't die."

She knew he was talking about his injuries. She wondered what else they had done to him that wasn't visible.

"Don't waste it," he begged. "Run while you can."

"I'm not going to run," she nearly shouted. "I love you, you idiot, and I'm not leaving you. I'm not running. I'm staying to fight. _That's_ what you did for me. You gave me a chance to fight, and I'm going to take it. So either stop telling me to leave, or shut up and let me work in peace."

"You…love me?"

She snorted. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes."

Clarke sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to bump his battered body. "I know, and I'm sorry. I should've told you, or shown you, or something, but I didn't, and now all of this happened, and I'm sorry, but it all—"

Bellamy silenced her with a finger to her lips. His hand was shaking from the effort of lifting it as far as her face, and slowly he turned it so he could cup her cheek with his hand. "Kiss me?" he requested weakly.

Tears streaming down her face, Clarke laughed. "That's all you want?"

"It's all I'm going to ask for, and all I want you to give me."

"Bellamy Blake the sweet-talker," Clarke teased.

"Shut up and kiss me," he growled.

She leaned forward and did just that. She could feel his body tense under her touch and knew it was painful. But he kissed her right back, albeit trembling and weak, and she took her sweet time before pulling away.

"Princess," he whispered.

"Yes, Rebel King?"

"I love you."

"I've been informed that everyone in this camp knew that except me," Clarke replied.

He managed a small smile. "Maybe. Does it matter?"

"Not really." She picked up the cloth again. "I, um, I need to keep working. It's going to hurt."

"I know." Then, "Everything hurts right now anyway."

"I'm sorry," Clarke said yet again.

"No."

"What?"

"You're not allowed to apologize for this. I could've told them. That was my choice. No credit goes to you. You would've caved right away."

"If they were beating you? Of course I would've, if I'd been there."

"Likewise. It's good that we weren't together. The kids would be in serious danger. We need to be careful to not leave camp together often, and not without protection."

"You actually make a really good point, for someone who's lying on the door of death. You're also talking a lot better than before."

"Hurts like hell."

"So stop talking."

"Only if you keep going."

"Alright. Um, fair warning, I need to clean up that arrow wound."

"Dang, I knew that would come sooner or later," Bellamy grumbled.

"I thought we had an agreement," Clarke teased in an attempt to lessen her own stress.

Bellamy desperately grabbed the table/bed with his good hand when she set to work around the arrow wound.

"I'm—"

"No," he cut her off with a grunt.

"Alright. Octavia and Lincoln had more details to share than you did," Clarke said instead.

"I saw her."

"I know."

"She's angry."

"At both of us," Clarke acknowledged. "But she loves you. She's just confused. Still, she left an awful lot behind to come here for you. That means something."

"Clarke, Octavia's—"

"Pregnant, I know," she said at the same time that he said "married."

Clarke paled. Bellamy sat up fast with a cry of surprise and pain before dropping back on the bed and going very stiff.

"Bellamy?" Clarke asked hesitantly. "Hey, I just need to know you can breathe."

No response. Just pained gasps and stifled whimpers.

Clarke ran her hands over his chest, checking to make sure none of the ribs had shifted and punctured a lung. Then she tried to content herself with pushing his sweaty hair from his forehead and waiting.

"I'm ok," he croaked after a few minutes.

"You really shouldn't sit up for a while," Clarke scolded gently.

"You said, you said Octavia was…?"

"Married to Lincoln," Clarke lied. "I thought she told you? She seemed pretty happy."

"No, you said something else."

"That they left a lot behind to come see you? They did. Apparently they found a little Grounder village that accepted them and were fitting right in, which is sort of hard to imagine."

"Pregnant. You said pregnant."

"No, you heard wrong. London and I—"

"Neither you nor London is pregnant, Clarke."

"You don't know that."

"I know London wouldn't be able to keep a secret," Bellamy countered. "She'd be happy, and so would you. And I _know_ you're not."

"I might have—"

"You didn't. Octavia's pregnant? How far along? Lincoln? Why didn't she tell me?"

"She's probably worried you'll be angry."

He shut his eyes tightly.

"Are you?" she asked carefully.

"I don't know," he confessed. "We're at peace, and she's married. Young, but we all grew up fast."

"Sound reasoning."

"I just, she's my little sister. And thinking of my little sister married, her and Lincoln…" he shuddered. "I don't know what to think."

"Are you at least happy for her?"

"Yes."

"Well that's all you have to think for now. Until she gets fat. Then you can think she's fat."

Bellamy grinned. "Do you want kids?" he asked suddenly.

"What? We have kids."

"No, your own. Babies. Helpless little alien-looking creatures that come out screaming and make a mess of everything. Do you want them?"

"Well when you put it like that…."

"I do," he said wistfully, eyes on the door now, clearly unable to face the pain he was feeling anymore.

"You're not the one giving birth," Clarke countered. "Plus, earth is…dangerous."

"Life is dangerous, Clarke," Bellamy pointed out. "That doesn't mean we can't live it to the fullest."

"You like little kids, don't you?" she asked gently.

"Yes."

"You'll make a great uncle."

He flinched as she returned to cleaning his wounds.

"And an even better father," he thought he heard her whisper as he drifted into unconsciousness.


	31. Ch 29: Peace and Quiet

"Clarke?" London's voice echoed in the hallway.

Clarke looked up from her drawing. She hadn't taken a break in, well, she wasn't even sure when the last time was that she had taken a break. The Royal Court had finally convinced her that they had everything under control. Actually, Octavia had told Clarke to shut up and leave, and Raven had seconded the motion, even though Octavia wasn't a Royal Court. Lincoln just stood there and smirked, probably well aware of his wife's command over nearly any situation and obviously unwilling to cross her.

Clarke knew they were right. She also knew she had a problem. She and Bellamy had talked about it more than once, since it was a problem they shared. It had come up one day when she'd insisted upon sanitizing all of her medical equipment on a warm sunny day. Bellamy had objected, insisting she go to the lake with the other girls.

"Why, do I smell?" Clarke had asked.

Bellamy had given her his signature half-smirk. "You know it's not safe for me to answer that, Princess. I say you do, and you get mad. I say you don't, and you say I'm lying. Either way I have to pretend to notice what you smell like, or _actually_ find out, and given what everyone else in camp smells like, I'd rather not."

That, of course, hadn't gone over very well with Clarke. She'd sputtered at him about duty and responsibility and being a leader.

Bellamy had taken her tools away from her while she wasn't paying attention.

Clarke was left with the scalpel in her, which she had promptly waved at him in her frustration, and Bellamy backed away with hands in the air, half convinced she would actually strike him.

"Clarke," he'd pleaded, "you need a break. I know you want to be responsible and good and a leader and whatever. And that's nice, but you're going to fall apart if you don't take a break. You can't do all that without taking some time to yourself."

Clarke had sighed. He'd been right, she just wasn't ready to admit it. "Now is a bad time for a break," she had argued, mainly for the sake of arguing at this point. She was _not_ going to give into those freckles and that unruly brown hair, hair so thick he wouldn't need a hat in the winter, hair that was probably soft and….

"There's never a good time for a break," Bellamy had countered. "There is no one standing outside our wall to attack us, and we _do_ have a wall, and enough shelters for everyone to sleep inside tonight. I think it's safe to take a few hours off."

"I think it's stupid," Clarke had insisted stubbornly, out of arguments but not ready to give in just yet.

"I think," he had said, cautiously coming closer, "that you just can't bring yourself to agree with me right now."

"Not true. I think you're wrong."

"Lie. You think I'm cute and you don't want to admit that, and my logic, are swaying you to agree."

Clarke had let out a huff of frustration and thrown the scalpel to the ground.

Bellamy had yelped and jumped back, barely avoiding a knife to the foot.

Clarke had tried desperately not to laugh at his horrified expression.

"You almost stabbed me!"

"I'm not sure 'stab' is the right word. You would've been fine, anyway."

"You would've had to re-sanitize all of your tools."

"Considering that's what I'm intending to do at the moment, once you hand those over, that won't cause me any problems."

Bellamy had rolled his eyes, bent down, and retrieved her scalpel. "Clarke," he said slowly, "I don't like arguing with you."

"Don't you? It sure seems like it."

He had sighed. "I just want to make sure you're ok. And no matter what you say, you're not ok when you work this hard. Your nightmares, they aren't as bad when you take time for yourself."

"How do you know that?"

He had finally met her gaze. "I hear you. Just because I don't come running every night doesn't mean I don't still hear you. I just know you don't want me there."

"Who comes when you call?" Clarke had asked hesitantly.

"No one," he had confessed, sounding like a lost child. "No one," he had repeated more gruffly. "I'm fine."

But Clarke had known both of those things were not true. Still, she hadn't been able to argue with him anymore, so she had left him standing there, hands full of medical tools, and went for a walk.

Five minutes later, he had joined her. They had walked in silence, and that had been fine.

Clarke's hand moved skillfully across the page as she sketched the little clearing they had found that day. Bellamy wasn't awake to go for a walk with her, nor would he be able to for quite a while. She had no desire to walk with anyone else, and honestly, she was afraid to leave the medical building.

"Clarke!" London sounded frantic.

Clarke set her drawing down and moved to the hall to better hear her assistant. "London?" she called back.

"He won't listen to me, Clarke," London yelled from somewhere down the hall.

Clarke sighed. Of course he wouldn't. This was Bellamy they were talking about, she was sure. No one else was living in medical for the foreseeable future.

"Clarke!" London hollered.

"Coming." Then, "Bellamy, if you do anything stupid, I swear you'll regret it."

With a sigh, Clarke headed for his room, not sure she wanted to know what he was doing. As he started to feel better, he'd become an exasperating patient, wanting to have meetings with the Royal Court, requesting daily reports from his scouts, and even asking someone to bring in the weapons so he could inspect them, just in case of course, since Clarke had forbidden any trips outside the walls for the time being.

What now?


	32. Chapter 30: Visitor

"No. Absolutely not," Clarke said firmly.

"Please, Clarke," Bellamy begged. "I'm tired of being here. I just want to go back to my own bed."

"Your 'bed' consists of a blanket thrown over the dirt," Clarke countered. "Everyone else in this camp has a cabin except you, because you haven't gotten to yours yet, and you are _not_ going to a tent until you're healed."

"I _am_ ," he insisted. He struggled to his feet, unable to hide his grimace. "Look. I can stand."

"First, standing doesn't constitute being healed, and second, you can't." Clarke wasn't about to give in. "You're going to, yep, no, move slowly, there you go, now just sit down."

Bellamy did as he was told, well aware he'd overestimated his strength.

Clarke turned to London. "Thank you for calling for me. I'll take it from here. Why don't you go finish counting our supplies? Bellamy sort of burned through most of them," she said, giving Bellamy a hard look.

He mustered an innocent smile.

"Are you sure?" London asked. "He's really stubborn."

"So's Clarke," Bellamy assured her. "Probably we'll spend about five minutes heatedly arguing, after which we'll both realize how stupid we are, nothing new will happen, and life will go on."

Clarke shrugged. "Probably," she admitted. "It's fine, London. I'll let you know if I need anything."

London nodded uncertainly and left.

"Alright. Plead your case," Clarke directed.

"My case is I'm sick of living in medical. I feel a lot better, too. Just because I can't stand very well doesn't mean I'm not healing. This place is boring as hell, and I have stuff I want to take care of that I could easily do from my tent."

"Anything that can be done from your tent can be done from here."

"Maybe. But it's a lot of extra work."

"You _are_ healing," she acknowledged. "But you still can't even stand. Plus you have a _hole_ in your stomach, Bellamy. A hole."

"Well it's actually my abdomen, not my stomach, but whatever."

"You have an unnatural hole in the middle of your body. You're not leaving until at least that is better."

"Why?"

"Because it's serious, and I need to be able to keep a close eye on it. If something goes wrong, no matter how small, there's very little I can do to fix it. Timing is everything. An hour or two could mean the difference between you living or dying."

Bellamy sighed. "I'm bored," he complained.

"Trust me, you're not the only one," Clarke grumbled. "But if we want you to live, you need to stay put until I say otherwise."

"How exactly are you going to stop me?"

"You might be twice as big as me, but you can't even stand on your own. I don't think it would be all that hard."

"Feisty Princess."

"That's me," she returned, tossing her hair over her shoulder haughtily as she headed for the door.

"That's it?"

"What's it?"

"You come all the way down here to yell at me and tell me I can't leave and then off you go?"

"You are _not_ getting any sort of reward for making me leave my peaceful corner where I was drawing," Clarke shot back. "You've been a bad boy. No kiss for you today."

Bellamy's face was instantly apologetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were drawing. If I had known, I would have waited."

"This whole stunt better not be because you just wanted me to come down here."

He shook his head. "I did miss you though."

"And it better not happen again."

"It won't. Not today."

"Bellamy."

He grinned. "You're so easy to get all riled up, Clarke. Loosen up a bit."

"Me? What about—"

"She's busy!" London's voice could be heard from outside the door.

"I need to talk to her," Monty argued. "It's important."

"She's busy right now. Don't go in there. It'll just have to wait."

"It can't."

Clarke sighed. "How would you like to have a little mini Royal Court meeting?" she asked Bellamy.

"I'm not sure I'm feeling healthy enough for that yet."

"Oh give me a break." She opened the door. "London, it's alright. Monty, what's going on?"

"A Grounder, at the gate," Monty revealed. "Ice Nation."

Bellamy snarled something Clarke didn't want to repeat.

"Just one?" Clarke asked.

"Just one," Monty confirmed. "He's already handed over his sword and other weapons, as far as we can tell."

"Ice Nation? What does he want?"

"He says he's the King of the Ice Nation and he wants to speak to Wanheda."

"Roan," Clarke breathed.

Bellamy swore.


	33. Chapter 31: An Agreement

Roan entered the meeting from of the Royal Court. It was a room attached to the mess hall, and while it was small, it was a safe space to meet and discuss serious matters.

No one had expected to welcome Grounders, much less Ice Nation, beyond the walls of the camp—and never all the way into the Royal Court's room.

Clarke had requested that the Royal Court not be present for the meeting because of ill will between them and the Ice Nation. No one agreed with her, but when the King took her side, there was no arguing.

It wasn't easy to get the injured Bellamy from medical to the mess hall, but he wasn't about to just let Clarke meet Roan without him present. Clarke pointed out that he really didn't have any control in the matter, but that lead to a fight, and she didn't have time for it. So they moved him.

"Wanheda," Roan greeted her, bowing low.

"King of the Ice Nation," she returned, but did not budge from her seat.

"I see your second is still with you," Roan remarked, nodding at Bellamy.

"He's not my second," Clarke replied as Bellamy bristled silently. "He's my equal."

"I'm surprised he made it back," Roan confessed.

"Back from your people? I am too, and I am very unhappy with you for what happened," Clarke said sternly. "We had a pact. We are the thirteenth clan. The fact that you kidnapped our king and beat him is no show of good faith. We will never trust you again. The only reason we allowed you this audience is to tell you we are done dealing with you. There will be no more of it."

Roan chuckled. "You have no idea what's going on," he finally said.

"Enlighten us," Bellamy snarled.

"The men who took your _king,_ as you call him, they are rouge Ice Nation members. I have been tracking them for several weeks. They have crimes they must answer to. Blood must have blood."

"Then what are you doing here?" Clarke wanted to know.

"I wanted whatever information you might share on their whereabouts," Roan revealed. "I heard they were near here, and there was rumor of the capture of the King of Camp Bellarke. I see now those rumors were correct."

Clarke stood, no longer able to contain her anger. "I have no proof of your claims, Roan, but I have proof of what your men did and it will _not_ be tolerated. Your people tortured and nearly killed our king. It is a miracle he still lives. You need to leave our camp immediately and stay far away from us. My people will be informed that they may shoot to kill any Ice Nation, regardless of the pact."

"Clarke," Roan coaxed, dropping the formality. "We've had our differences in the past."

"Differences?" Bellamy snapped. "You kidnapped her, tried to turn her over to be killed, and nearly killed me. Those aren't just 'differences'."

"Be that as it may, we were allies in the last battle," Roan reminded them. "I have come to see the crimes of the Ice Nation. Clarke, you and I have worked together multiple times. What reason could I have to kidnap and torture your king?"

"You want us to leave," Clarke proposed. "You want him dead. You want me dead. You want to control Wanheda. You want the land we currently occupy. Need I go on? There are plenty of possibilities."

"I've left you alone. I've helped you. I have no way to prove what I am saying is true, aside from my own men waiting outside your gate who will testify that we have been tracking the rouges for a good amount of time. Now, perhaps we can stop acting like children and have a discussion on what might be done?"

"Acting like children?" Clarke scoffed. "You attacked someone searching out food for his people, kept him prisoner, and beat him for no reason and you're accusing us of acting like children?"

"I told you, that wasn't—"

"Even if it wasn't you," Bellamy interrupted, "you still kidnapped Wanheda because you believed in superstition and obeyed your queen like a pawn."

Roan sighed. "I came to offer assistance, but if you will refuse it, I will leave."

"What could you possibly have to offer us?" Clarke asked.

"I can offer you my protection."

"We don't need it."

"You do." He nodded at Bellamy. "Your king is barely able to stand behind you. If this meeting goes any longer than ten more minutes, he will collapse and we all know it. Perhaps we should get to the point."

"The point being you want to offer us protection. Why?"

"My people rebelled. They must pay for what they have done. I understand you may want to punish them for their actions against your king. Allow me to track, capture, and enact any punishments we can agree upon."

"And why would you do this?"

"My people must be punished. I cannot have more committing such crimes. Lessons must be taught."

"Why should we let you do this? Our enemies must know we can fight for ourselves."

"It will be a show of good faith. There is no doubt that you can hold your own. Even without Arkadia, you are still Wanheda, the feared Commander of Death. If you allow me to punish the men who attacked your king, it will show good faith between our nations, good will on your part and mine, and will suggest you do not see it necessary to show your strength."

"And you think I'll agree with this."

"I think you must," Roan answered calmly. "The leader you must show the world is not the leader your people need or will ever follow. If you punish these men, it will not be according to your beliefs. Still, they must be punished. You have nothing to lose from this and everything to gain."

"We accept," Bellamy said before Clarke could say otherwise.

Clarke turned to face him but kept her expression neutral. Surely he had an explanation for this.

"Your points are all correct," Bellamy conceded. "We have no need to make a show of power to the world nor to our people. We can benefit from a show of cooperation and union with the Grounder Nations. I have only one request."

Roan nodded.

"When you punish these men, make it quick. There is no reason for them to suffer as I have. Simply punish them according to the crimes they committed, whether that be banishment, death, slavery, or something else. Just don't torture them. It's not necessary, and would make them into martyrs, which they cannot be in order for this pact to continue."

Roan's face twitched. He was obviously discontent with this requirement, but he did not object. Instead, he reached out a hand and shook Bellamy's. "It shall be as you say."


	34. Chapter 32: What Next?

Roan and his men captured the rogues quickly and returned to their own land. Bellamy's recovery was slow, and he did not go hunting again before the snow came. Still, he did recover, even if he still experienced phantom pains now and then.

Octavia and Lincoln decided they would stay the winter for the safety of their unborn baby, but it was understood by all that they would not stay past the first thaw. The baby grew, as did Octavia.

Camp Bellarke continued to remain in "hiding", in that they did not communicate with Arkadia. Clarke missed her mother, but knew she could not go back, nor did she need to. She had everything she needed in Camp Bellarke, which was finally complete with the proper number of cabins, a mess hall, food storage, a bath house, and of course Clarke's precious medical building (which Bellamy was glad to not be living in anymore).

It was a dark, cold, winter night when Bellamy stopped by medical to check in on his princess before bed.


	35. Chapter 33

Hello all! I have not forgotten this story, it has just been incredibly busy here on my end. At this point, having completed the two sagas (the escape from camp, and the rogue Ice Nation people), I'm going to be doing a bunch of one shots, and I am always happy for any recommendations. Thank you, and enjoy!

* * *

Roan and his men captured the rogues quickly and returned to their own land. Bellamy's recovery was slow, and he did not go hunting again before the snow came. Still, he did recover, even if he still experienced phantom pains now and then.

Octavia and Lincoln decided they would stay the winter for the safety of their unborn baby, but it was understood by all that they would not stay past the first thaw. The baby grew, as did Octavia.

Camp Bellarke continued to remain in "hiding", in that they did not communicate with Arkadia. Clarke missed her mother, but knew she could not go back, nor did she need to. She had everything she needed in Camp Bellarke, which was finally complete with the proper number of cabins, a mess hall, food storage, a bath house, and of course Clarke's precious medical building (which Bellamy was glad to not be living in anymore).

It was a dark, cold, winter night when Bellamy stopped by medical to check in on his princess before bed. She was humming a haunting tune as she sorted through what looked like a box of supplies. He wondered where it had come from. Bellamy couldn't help but smile a little when she started to sway to the music she was humming.

He cleared his throat. "Hello Doctor Princess," he greeted her.

Clarke jumped and gave a little shriek. "Bellamy Blake!" she scolded, slowly dropping her hand from the knife on her hip.

He put up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"I know. I just, bad habit I guess."

"Kept you alive," he remarked.

"Sometimes, I'm not sure the habits that kept us alive are necessarily good ones to keep," she responded. "Also, it's not Doctor Princess."

"No? Just Doctor then?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Princess. Duly noted. Won't happen again. Mind my asking why?"

"I'm not your doctor."

"You are though. Saved my life more than once, and recently you brought me back from the grave."

Clarke sighed and leaned against the rough wooden table behind her. "I'm everyone else's doctor," she struggled to explain.

Bellamy smiled. "And my Princess," he finished for her. "I'm good with that." He crossed the room. "Turn," he ordered.

Clarke turned her back to him. When his strong hands came down on her shoulders and worked her sore muscles, she moaned softly.

"What's wrong?" Bellamy asked.

"Aside from the usual?"

"That was implied," he agreed.

"I don't know. Lately, with everything going so well, I keep thinking back to all the people we had to kill to get here. Do you think that was right? I mean, we killed people and ended up here, happy, while they're dead. _They_ could have been the happy ones. Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

"Yes. But you have it wrong. Since when did we attack anyone who didn't attack us first?"

"Mount Weather. Really it was the leaders who were attacking us, not the families who died."

"We didn't have a choice."

"They had good lives. We took them. Now _we_ have good lives. It just seems wrong."

Bellamy sighed. "I'm not saying we always did the right thing," he said carefully. "I would be comfortable saying that we've always done what we could not to kill people, at least you have, and that we really did try to avoid it if possible."

"The bomb that hit the Grounder village? I could have warned them."

"And I could have stopped the massacre of Lexa's army, or at least warned them," Bellamy countered.

"It just makes it hard to sleep sometimes is all," Clarke confessed.

"Well you can at least remember that you always did your best and your intentions were good."

"Intentions don't change reality, Bellamy. You know that."

"I know." His hands stopped moving on her shoulders. "They do make it easier to deal with sometimes though."

"I'm not sure it _should_ be easier."

He sighed. "Me either, to be completely honest."

Silence.

"Do you think we can make up for what we did? I mean, we can't change it, since it happened, and we feel bad about it, but then what?"

"There was an ancient religion, before the Ark, that talked about repenting of wrongs. You had to confess them and then you had to do something, and God would forgive you, and then you had to try to do the right thing."

"Confess to who?"

"Early on it was a lot of people," Bellamy struggled to recall. "Later, it was just one of their priests."

"What did they do?"

"Sometimes they said a prayer, sometimes they did some public act that was considered good. Feed the hungry and clothe the naked or whatever."

"Interesting."

"Yeah, it was."

"Did it work?"

"The religion?"

"Confessing."

"I assume so. There was this super old writer, they had to translate his stuff lots of times, but he did horrible things, and then he confessed, and started doing good things, and he didn't sound guilty to me."

"You're smarter than most people think," Clarke teased.

"Yes, a real scholar," Bellamy agreed. "Seriously though, it wasn't a half bad idea. People fixed their lives, and other people were taken care of, and they were generally happy. There are some really crazy stories about this evil king who didn't like the religion, and so he put the people in a big arena with lions and other beasts, and those people would to go their deaths singing."

Clarke shuddered. "It just sounds really strange."

"I think that's what a lot of people thought."

"Does it still exist?"

"Probably. It kept going into hiding since authorities kept trying to kill them off."

"Sounds like us," she remarked.

"Except without the guilt," he agreed.

"What're you saying?"

"I'm not saying we need to find them and convert," he hastily clarified. "I'm just saying it's an interesting method."

"With that method in mind, we've already confessed, and haven't we done stuff to right the wrongs?"

"You saved everyone from ALI, and lots of other times too," Bellamy agreed.

"And you took a beating for our people, and then later for me."

"Do you think that means we're clear?"

"What did the religion say?"

"No one could ever know if they were truly clear or not and they just had to keep working at being good, if I remember correctly."

"And that somehow made people happy?"

"Work always makes people feel better, no matter what religion you are."

"You're just saying that because you've spent the past few weeks laid up," Clarke teased.

"I'd say the past few weeks have shown me just how much I believe it," Bellamy countered.

"Fair enough."

"We'll find forgiveness, Clarke. We just have to keep working."


	36. Chapter 34: Not the Afternoon Planned

Hey all! Found a few moments to whip something up. It's less dark than what I've had lately, and a little longer, with some dialogue, so that's nice. Enjoy!

* * *

"Clarke, Bellamy's being an idiot," Jasper reported as soon as he strode through the door.

"Close the door, it's cold out," Clarke responded without turning around.

Jasper shut the door. "Clarke, Bellamy's being an idiot," he repeated.

"I heard you the first time, Jasper," Clarke replied, stifling a smile as she turned to face him.

"Oh. I wasn't sure."

"I just chose not to answer."

"That's not nice."

"I was under the impression that your most common view of Bellamy is that he's an idiot, so I didn't think there needed to be much commentary before you told me what was going on," Clarke explained. "So?"

"Huh?"

"What idiotic thing did he do this time?"

"He went hunting."

"I knew that. I told him he was healthy enough."

"Well he's not anymore," Jasper muttered.

Clarke groaned. "What now?"

"A scuffle and a tree and lots of useless unnecessary details," Jasper slurred, "but the important part is that he bled through his coat."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm sure it's not too bad or anything. It's just a nasty scrape, but I told him to come here, and he's not here. Was he here? Did I miss him? You'd think he wouldn't have a problem coming here, since you're here, but, no? No, he hasn't been here. I rest my case. Bellamy is an idiot."

"How bad is this scrape, Jasper?"

Jasper shrugged. "Stitches, probably. Nothing too serious. He's just being stupid about it."

Clarke sighed. She had enough going on. Octavia had been having Braxton Hicks contractions, and they'd been getting more and more common lately. Clarke had ordered Octavia to bed and threatened to have her confined in Medical if the girl didn't obey. There were the minor injuries related to cold air activities (everything from chopping wood to attempting to go skiing). It was life, she knew, but she really didn't need Bellamy to be stubborn on top of it all.

The door slammed against the wall and cold air rushed in for the second time that hour.

"Oh, look who's here," Jasper remarked. "I'm going to leave this one to you, Dr. Griffin. Bellamy Blake, turn yourself in to the medical officer immediately for treatment." With that, Jasper gave a sloppy salute and spun on his heel, out into the cold, and shut the door behind him.

Clarke raised one eyebrow, waiting. She could see the rusty brown blood stains on Bellamy's torn coat, and his hand was pressed against his side, but he didn't seem to be in much pain and there wasn't much blood lost from what she could tell.

"Hey Clarke."

"Bellamy."

"How's Jasper?"

"He thinks you're an idiot."

"So nothing new then," Bellamy remarked. He moved further into the room. "Um, say, when you're not busy, I think I might've done something on the hunt today."

"You don't say."

"Nothing serious. It can wait."

"Good. Because I clearly have a room full of people waiting for medical attention. Sit down."

Bellamy sat down in the empty room and waited to see what lesson she was trying to teach him this time.

"Take your coat off while you wait," Clarke recommended.

Bellamy did so with a stifled groan.

"London," Clarke called, "can you take this one to a room for me?"

London came around the corner looking puzzled. "Um, ok. Which room?"

Suddenly an idea occurred to Clarke. "Why don't you assess the situation and see what you think?" she directed. She'd been waiting for a minor injury she could trust London with to give her trainee the practice she needed, but so far London had mainly treated rashes, stomach aches, and headaches. Here was a patient who would be steady enough for London to examine and treat, and probably not injured enough for Clarke to need to get involved. She could just observe.

"Alright, sure," London said slowly. "Hi Bellamy."

"London," he greeted her, eyes tracking her every movement.

"So, ah, what happened?"

"I'm not really sure," he confessed. "I got nicked somehow. It's not a big deal."

"Can I see the wound?"

He pulled up his shirt, careful not to touch the area. A decently long and semi-deep wound was revealed, oozing blood but not too quickly. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"For sure," London agreed sarcastically. "Let's get you into a room. I want to clean that up and probably place some stitches." She looked at Clarke hesitantly.

"He's your patient," Clarke assured her. "I think he's a good fit for what I've been wanting you to experience."

Bellamy followed them obediently to a room, a puzzled look on his face. London had him sit on a table and remove his shirt before she headed for the supplies she wanted.

"Clarke? What's going on here?" Bellamy asked.

"London needs experience," Clarke explained. "So far, all she's dealt with are minor rashes and the stomach flu. You're not bleeding out, and you don't have the stomach flu, so I thought it might be a good place for her to start. Plus, I trust you to be a good patient, unlike a few other possibilities here at camp."

"Oh. Ah, well, ok. Sure."

"Bellamy."

"What?"

"London is perfectly capable. I just haven't had a good patient for her yet."

"Uh huh. Hey, um, is this going to involve stitches?"

Clarke glanced at the wound. "I sure hope so."

"Ok. Yeah. Sure, that makes sense."

"She can do it. And I'll watch to make sure she does it right."

"Sure, sure, uh huh, sounds good."

"You can't honestly tell me you're afraid of stitches." She was shocked. After everything they'd been through, _this_ was his concern?

"Huh? I didn't say that. I'll be good for her."

"You've been shot at, almost blown up, shock lashed, tortured, bled by the Mountain Men for healing properties, stabbed, and you're worried about _stitches_?"

"Damn it Clarke, stitches hurt!" Bellamy finally exploded.

"And that didn't?"

"Not the same!" He took a deep breath. "Look, for most of that I wasn't completely conscious. Either that or I wasn't able to do anything anyway. This is different. I'm all here and I'm fully capable of throwing London across the room."

"You won't," Clarke said confidently.

"What makes you so sure?"

"You're Bellamy."

"Real comforting."

"And I'll make sure you don't."

"Better."

Clarke sat next to him. "Are you really that worried about this?"

"No. I just, I already hurt, and stitches hurt really bad, and I don't know, you're here, and…."

"I've seen worse from other people and worse from you."

"I know, but I like to preserve some of my dignity."

Clarke shrugged. She didn't bother reminding him that after the Rogue Ice Nation attack, there wasn't a whole lot Bellamy had left to hide. "It'll be fine."

The door swung open and London bounced in. "Hi. Ready?"

"Maybe you should carefully examine the wound first," Clarke recommended. "And clean it."

"Oh. Right. Um, Bellamy, you should lay down and put your arm over your head."

"This'll be great," Bellamy grumbled to Clarke, but he did as requested.

There was some frowning and mumbling and poking and prodding from London, and some tsking and correcting and demonstrating from Clarke, and some shifting and groaning from Bellamy, but eventually the wound was examined and washed and London was poised with the needle and thread.

"London, why don't you check in with your patient before you stab him," Clarke recommended.

London jumped back. "I'm so sorry. I keep forgetting you're real, and not some dummy Clarke rigged up with whatever the hunters brought back."

"My hunters," Bellamy agreed.

"So, um, Bellamy, how're you doing?"

"I'm bleeding and I feel warm and tired and sore and bored."

"Ok. Um, that's nice. So I'm just going to stitch you up, then we'll check to make sure you don't have a fever. I started a pot of tea that should help keep back infection, and that should be ready by the time we're done here. Then you get to go back to your cabin and rest for a while."

Clarke nodded encouragingly.

"So, this might sting a little, but here we go."

"A little," Bellamy muttered sarcastically. A moment later, he hissed in pain, but he knew he deserved it after a comment like that.

It took all of three stitches before Bellamy reached for Clarke's hand with his free one and held it tightly.

"Also, it would be good if you don't move," London added, concentrated on the wound.

"Doing my best," Bellamy ground out.

Clarke watched Bellamy carefully. He _did_ look like he had a fever, and she was sure the pain and stress probably wasn't helping. Maybe it hadn't been the best time to teach London how to stitch up a real person.

"Clarke?"

She turned at his voice.

"How's it looking?" he wanted to know. "Is she going to leave me with a funny scar?"

"To add to your collection?" Clarke teased as she leaned over to check.

"Real funny, Princess."

"She's doing very well. Nearly done."

"Awesome."

"Aaaaand…last one," London announced triumphantly some time later. She tugged at the knot, and Bellamy jolted upward with a yelp. "Oops! Sorry!"

"I'm a person," he reminded her, voice a little higher than usual. "Not a dead animal."

"I know. Sorry, I just didn't want that to come out. Ok. Come back in a week, and I'll remove those stitches. Otherwise I'll grab your tea and you're free to go."

"I'll take it from here, London. Why don't you check on Octavia?"

"Did I do alright?" London asked.

"Yes, you did very well. Now, off you go."

The door shut. Bellamy flopped back down on the table with a groan. "That sucked."

"You did very well," Clarke assured him.

"How about we let someone stitch up your ribs and see how you hold up?" he snarled.

"It needed doing. You were an idiot in the first place," Clarke shot back.

He sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I just, that wasn't how I was planning on spending my afternoon is all."

"Well you've got the whole afternoon left. How do you plan to spend that?"

"Here? I think I'm coming down with something."

"You look feverish."

"I feel it."

"You should take the afternoon off. Sleep here for a while. I don't need the room for anything."

"How about you grab some paper and draw?" he countered. "It seems rather quiet today."

"I might, actually."

"You could bring it in here, and we could talk."

"It's been a while since we did that."

"I know. My schedule's been packed, and I'm sure yours has too."

"It has been." Clarke stood. "I think I'm going to do just that. I'll be right back."

A hand on her wrist stopped her. "Kiss me first?" Bellamy requested.

Clarke rolled her eyes but leaned down to do just that.

Bellamy grinned as she walked away. It hadn't really been his plan for the afternoon, but hey, he was a flexible person. If he had to spend the afternoon in medical talking to Clarke while she drew, he could deal.


	37. Update

Hello all,

I have not forgotten about this story, especially in the wake of season 4 starting. Unfortunately I seriously injured my wrist, and typing has become very difficult for the time being. This is just to say that I do fully intend to keep working on this story, it just might be a few (unfortunately) weeks before I am able to update again.

In the meantime, I do still read messages and comments, so if anyone has any suggestions for a one-shot, I'm all ears.

Thank you for your patience and loyal readership! I write for you guys!


	38. Chapter 35: Little Grounder

Hey all, very sorry for the long wait. But at last my wrist has healed, and spring break came, and I've got a good amount written and ready to post, so here it comes! Thank you for sticking through it with me, and for continuing to read, and for your kind and very encouraging comments. They keep me going!

* * *

"Bellamy!"

Bellamy looked up from struggling to free a cart from the mud. Winter had turned quickly, and suddenly snow was mud, and so was the whole camp. They had built carts for easy hauling back when Camp Bellarke had been under major construction (as opposed to the never-ending minor construction it now endured). The carts had come in handy, until they got stuck.

"Bellamy," the kid called again.

It was one of the younger ones. Not that any of them had been allowed to stay young.

"Yeah," Bellamy responded, trying to push a lock of dirty damp hair from his eyes. He only succeeded in pasting it back with mud and leaving yet another smear of mud on his face.

"Clarke said not to tell you," the kid panted

Immediately, Bellamy's full attention was captured. He straightened, dropping the handle he'd been pulling on, and started making his way through the knee-deep mud toward the dry ground where the kid stood. "What did she say not to tell me?" he demanded.

"I came anyway, 'cause I thought you'd want to know—"

"Know _what_?" Bellamy cut him off.

"Well Octavia went into labor, and everything is fine I guess, but—"

By then, the kid was talking to thin air. Bellamy was long gone, moving as quickly as he could, muttering about Clarke's decision-making skills.

Bellamy barged into medical, the door slamming open, making it impossible for his presence to go unnoticed. He found Lincoln in the waiting room. "Where's Octavia?"

"Back in a room," Lincoln answered. He was pacing. "Clarke and London are with her."

"How is she?"

"I don't know. They kicked me out."

"Aren't you a healer?"

"The women always dealt with births."

Both men flinched when they heard a guttural cry from down the hall.

"That's your fault," Bellamy said without thinking. "If you hadn't…well she would be fine."

"I know."

"She _is_ fine," a new voice said from behind.

The men spun to face Clarke.

"Everything is happening just like it should. Her contractions have slowed, so if you'd like to check on her, Lincoln, you can."

Lincoln didn't respond. He just darted down the hall as though afraid Clarke would change her mind if he didn't hurry.

Bellamy made a move to follow.

"No."

He stopped.

"How are you even here?" Clarke asked.

"Not important. My sister is in labor."

"Your sister, not your wife," Clarke confirmed. "Do you really think she wants you there?"

"She's my sister. I was there when she was born."

"Yes, and your poor mother. No, Bellamy, you can't go in there."

"And why not?"

"Well to start with, Octavia will kill you," Clarke began. "Which would be pointless, considering what I'm about to do to you for walking into my hospital looking like that."

"But Clarke—"

"You are filthy, and you're going to contaminate everything. Go wash off so you can be ready to see the baby when it's born."

"It's not my fault Octavia decided to have her baby while I was digging a cart out of a mud hole," Bellamy grumbled.

"Maybe when it's your wife giving birth, if you're covered in mud I _might_ let you go in as long as you take off your boots and promise not to touch anything."

Bellamy sighed. He wasn't sure how to tell her that he loved _her_ , and if anyone were to have his baby it needed to be his blonde princess. "If anything happens, you'll tell me, right?"

There it was. The gentle, submissive tone that Bellamy Blake only gave to Clarke.

"I'll send someone right away," Clarke promised.

* * *

Bellamy was pulling on his shirt when Clarke's messenger arrived in the communal bath/shower house. He didn't even wait to hear the news, just ran for the medical building.

He didn't stop in the waiting room this time, just went all the way to the room. He stopped in the doorway.

Clarke crossed the room to stand next to him. "Hey. What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"Is she ok?"

"Octavia is fine."

"There's so much blood," he said under his breath without thinking.

Clarke smiled tiredly. "Yes, Bellamy. Birthing a child is messy and brutal business."

He nodded dumbly.

"I thought you were there when Octavia was born," Clarke teased gently.

"I don't remember that part very well," he confessed.

"Well it's normal. Octavia and the baby are fine. Go meet your little niece."

Bellamy crossed the small room more cautiously than he'd ever moved in his life. "Octavia?"

"Bellamy, come meet your niece. Her name is Akila."

Clarke watched as Bellamy took the small child in his arms. Tears filled her eyes as she watched him tremble, finally smiling the most genuine smile Clarke had ever seen Bellamy give. He smiled, and tears ran down his newly-washed face, and he leaned over to kiss the baby's head.

"She's beautiful, O. Just like her mother."


	39. Chapter 36: Little Moments

"Bellamy, wait," Clarke called as he left the mess hall after dinner.

Bellamy turned. "Yes, Princess?"

"You need a haircut," Clarke announced once she was next to him. "It's gotten really long."

"Been busy, Princess."

"I know." Clarke reached for his large calloused hand and slipped hers into it. "I've hardly seen you."

"Miss me?" he teased. Really though, Bellamy had missed Clarke and loved the feel of her small hand in his.

"Yes," Clarke confessed.

"I missed you too," he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"Come with me," Clarke suggested. "I have a sharp knife in medical. I could cut your hair."

"Clarke," he hesitated.

"You need a haircut, and it _will_ happen. I'm the surgeon who pulled an arrow out of your abdomen and cut into your lung, so you know you can trust me," Clarke reasoned.

Bellamy stopped walking. "Ok, let's get this straight right now: while I greatly appreciate what you did for me, you cutting into my lung freaking _hurt_ and I was _not_ happy with you for quite a while."

"I know. I'm sorry. It was necessary."

"I get that. But it still hurt. Look, you lead the way. I'd love a quiet evening with you, and if that means you cutting my hair, that's what it means."

Clarke rolled her eyes but didn't pull away. She also didn't complain when she had to spend the next hour washing Bellamy's thick curls, combing through tangles with her fingers, and cutting away the excessive length.

Bellamy didn't either.


	40. Chapter 37: An Old-Fashioned Trip

"It's a nice idea, but it's really old fashioned," Monty said after a moment of thought.

"I know," Bellamy acknowledged. "But it's a sign of respect, and it shows I've changed."

"But I thought your respect for Abby wasn't all that high," Monty objected. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to stop you, even if I could do something like that. I just want to make sure you considered all the options."

"I don't respect Abby," Bellamy admitted. "But Clarke still cares about her mom, which is understandable."

"Isn't it also pretty unrealistic? For you to go back to Camp Arkadia, which is God-knows-where, and then make it back without being followed? You're reaching, Bellamy."

Bellamy sighed. "I know. But Clarke makes me want to reach. For her."

"Then that's your answer," Monty decided. "The Royal Court will back up whatever excuse you come up with for being gone a few days, no questions asked. And when you come back you sure as hell better do something about this whole thing."

Bellamy chuckled. "Trust me, I will."

The next Royal Court meeting was an uproar, but that was to be expected. Somehow, and they weren't quite sure how, Clarke was convinced that supplies had to be got, and Bellamy was the best one for the job. Bellamy was sure it was Raven's support that really sold the idea, and he made a mental note to thank her later.

But when Bellamy walked by medical on his way to pack supplies for his trip, he discovered Clarke wasn't the happy (well maybe a little crabby) camper she'd pretended to be. Then again, why had he expected any differently?

"Clarke, if you're going to argue with me, we should take it inside," Bellamy suggested when Clarke pulled him aside. "I don't think the kids need to see us fighting."

"No?" Clarke snapped. "Don't you think it's good for them to see us as human?"

Bellamy shrugged, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted. "But we're going to work out our differences, and then I'm going to kiss you because I love you, and you're going to kiss me back because you can't resist, and no kid wants to see mom and dad kissing."

Clarke raised one eyebrow and cocked a hip. "Oh really? You think that's what will happen?"

"I know it."

"Alright then, Rebel King, speak your piece."

"I already have," Bellamy objected. "Why don't you start, since I can't address your concerns if I don't know what they are."

Clarke needed no prompting to speak her mind. "It's stupid and reckless and you'll get yourself killed," she spat out.

"Ok, Clarke, use your reasoning, don't just call me names," Bellamy encouraged. This just served to make her angrier, but something deep down in Bellamy had known that. He just hadn't been able to resist the snide comment.

"Why are you doing this?" Clarke demanded. "Send someone else."

"Clarke, you know I can't send someone else to do what I wouldn't."

"Look at what happened last time! When they brought you to me you were almost _dead_. I had to sew your stomach back together, Bellamy. You had more broken bones than unbroken ones. Your _sister_ came back thinking she'd find you dead."

"Roan took care of that," he pointed out. "It won't happen again. I'm the one with the brand, so I shouldn't run into any trouble."

"Let me come with you."

It was a huge change in direction. Bellamy blinked, confused and not sure where to go next. Finally, he said, "No. You need to stay here and make sure the Royal Court doesn't do something insane while I'm gone." Gently, he tilted her chin up so she was looking him in the eyes, not yelling at his chest. "Clarke," he said slowly, "you can't lock me up after one ill-fated trip. I can defend myself."

"You didn't."

"No," he confessed. "I didn't. Because they said they'd go get someone else who _would_ talk. And I knew they were right. Someone, nearly anyone else, would have talked. I couldn't make someone else suffer, and I couldn't put your life in someone else's hands. So I didn't defend myself."

Bellamy's calm and honest explanation seemed to break something in Clarke. "I can't lose you," she said quietly. "Those days when you were missing, and then later when we found you but didn't know if you would live, I was terrified I would have to do this without you. I can't."

"I'm not asking you to," Bellamy assured her. If he could have told her the truth, she would have let him go. But he couldn't do that. "I am asking you to trust me. Trust that I can defend myself and come back to you. You believing I can do that, it means the world to me."

"Please just come back to me," Clarke requested in an uncharacteristically vulnerable moment.

"Always, Princess."

And just as Bellamy had promised, he kissed her tenderly, and Clarke kissed him back. Then they stood for a while in the shade of the medical building, Bellamy's arms around Clarke, her head on his chest, Bellamy whispering promises of a safe return and Clarke desperately trying to believe him.

Raven and wick strode by doing actual _work_ , and when they were out of earshot Raven remarked, "They've changed a lot."

"How so?" Wick asked, well aware of the answer but knowing Raven wanted to talk.

"At first they only worked together because they had to, and Bellamy ran a regular harem every night and lived by the rule of 'whatever the hell we want'."

"What happened?"

"He's a good guy, and his actions eventually caught up with his conscience."

"And now?"

"Well then they worked together because they didn't trust anyone else. Which is stupid, but understandable. Now they work together because they love each other and wouldn't want anyone else."

"Quite the love story you tell, Reyes."

"Better than the one you've got?"

"Not by a long shot."

Bellamy didn't wait for morning. The moment he left Clarke, he packed his things and took off. He was afraid of losing his resolve if he stayed any longer. Even as he trudged through the woods, Bellamy had to remind himself the whole reason he was going was so he _could_ come back to Clarke—every day and every night for as long as he lived.

He knew he could probably do that now, but it had to be done right. This wasn't one of his harem girls, this was Clarke Griffin.

And while she never would have asked for this, Bellamy wanted to give it to her because she deserved nothing but the best he could give her.

He could give her this. He _would_ give her this.


	41. Chapter 38: Arkadia

When Bellamy could finally see the gates of Camp Arkadia, he almost turned around. As it was, he stopped walking and stared for a good long time. It was going to take something pretty powerful to get him to go any closer.

The first time he'd seen Arkadia, Bellamy had his hands secured behind his back, a prisoner by Kane's orders. The last time he'd seen it, his whole body had still been weak from the fever that followed the beating. In between he supposed there were some good memories, but they were proving rather hard to come by at the moment.

Until now, Bellamy had been ignoring a very serious concern: being tracked after he left. Bellamy knew he wasn't the most accomplished woodsman, and he doubted he could throw anyone on the wrong trail even if he desperately wanted to.

Instead, he was depending on Abby.

Raising his hands to show he had now weapons, Bellamy stepped out of the trees and shouted hoarsely, "Open the gates! I need to speak to Abby Griffin!"


	42. Chapter 39: Back There

So, at the risk of spoiling this...the part where Bellamy starts talking about things that seem a little out of place? Everything he _says_ is actually said aloud, but some of the things he is _hearing_ and _seeing_ are obviously in his head. Just to clarify, since that part was hard to write in a way that was faithful to what was happening yet still made sense to the reader.

Enjoy!

* * *

Bellamy sat at the table in the otherwise-empty room, thoroughly annoyed. The guards at the gate had handcuffed him and locked him in this room, despite his protests that he'd taken his punishment without objection and had come back only to talk.

"Chancellor Kane will come when he has time," the guard had said.

"I don't want to talk to Kane," Bellamy had objected. "I want to talk to Abby." Well _that_ was something he'd never thought he'd say. Whoever said love made a person do strange things had been right.

"Any unwelcome visitors see Kane." Then the door had shut.

Bellamy had considered attempting to escape, but he was counting on Abby's good will to return home unfollowed. So he waited.

The door swung open, and a soldier entered, shutting it hard behind him.

When the man didn't say anything, Bellamy explained, "I want to talk to Abby, but apparently I'm waiting for Kane."

"Only the guards at the gate know you're here," the man revealed. "But Greg told me. Figured I'd want to know."

Bellamy didn't like that tone. Something was off.

"He was right," the man continued. "I've been trying to have, let's call it a _meeting_ , with you for a long time."

Bellamy shifted, uncomfortably aware his wrists were secured to the table. So instead of risking the possibility of saying the wrong thing, he stared at the man, a hard glare that said "come any closer and I'll hurt you."

They both knew that wasn't true.

"You almost killed my wife."

Bellamy doubted that. He'd killed, and almost killed, a lot of people, but he'd tried his best to make sure they were all warriors, and all men. Something about his mother and sister and the other women in his life had left a voice in the back of his mind that refused to allow him to do otherwise.

"You stole water when she need more. I applied for an increased ration, since she wasn't well, but I was told there wasn't enough. Two days, I thought she'd die. _Two days_ , and Dr. Griffin couldn't do anything for her."

"I stole water because my people were being worked harder than yours and were given less than the normal ration," Bellamy snarled.

"They're young. They were fine."

"But you wouldn't know, because the whole camp stayed clear of us."

"You were just like those savages."

Bellamy's sister had a baby with one of those "savages." "Your knowledge is pathetically small," he spat.

"You're selfish," the man shot back. "My wife _suffered_ because of that."

"So did I," Bellamy reminded him. "I paid for my crime."

Bellamy grunted in surprise when the soldier jerked his shirt up and over his head so it hung by his bound hands. "With _this_?" the man asked, gesturing at Bellamy's scarred back.

"Kane pronounced my crime paid for."

"Screw Kane!" the soldier shouted, punching Bellamy across the face.

Bellamy winced but didn't respond. Some days, he felt the same way.

"How does this even come close to paying for my wife's pain?"

"You were there. You saw."

"I saw them make you into some kind of hero to your people. Then I went home and sat with my wife and thought she wouldn't make it through the night."

Bellamy didn't bother to explain about the painful days where any movement made him want to vomit, the feverish nights when he was sure he was talking to his mother, and those moments when he was half-awake and Clarke cried because she thought he couldn't see.

"And then you and half the workers of this camp run off into the night, and you're what? Living it up somewhere without adults because you couldn't handle responsibility and reality."

That was all he could take. "Why are you even here?" Bellamy demanded. "Shouldn't you be with your wife?"

Bellamy knew he deserved the punch to the jaw he got.

"I'm here to make sure you pay for what you did."

He'd figured as much, but he'd been hoping to keep the man talking until Kane arrived. If he was coming at all. It suddenly occurred to Bellamy that this entire situation could easily be a set up by the guards. That would majorly suck.

The man moved so he could see Bellamy's face. "You're going to pay for what you did," he snarled, reaching for the buckle on his belt.

Outwardly, Bellamy remained calm. Inside was a different story. He had no way to escape, no possibility of even protecting himself. And he was not ready for _another_ beating. He had to get home. He'd promised Clarke he would. He'd asked her to trust him.

"Hold on a minute. What's this?"

Bellamy refused to meet the man's eyes as his would-be attacker took an uncomfortably close look at the scars on Bellamy's torso.

"Someone got to you before me, didn't they?" The soldier sounded surprisingly pleased. "Carved you up like a Unity Day turkey."

Bellamy swallowed hard.

That one slight action betrayed him.

"Must've been brutal, by the looks of it," the soldier continued, watching Bellamy's face closely. "What did they use, knives? Looks like Grounder work to me, not anything we would do. They're particularly good at causing lots of pain, aren't they?"

Involuntarily, Bellamy nodded. He blinked hard, trying to sort out what he was seeing. One minute it was an Arkadian soldier, the next the rogue Ice Nation Warrior.

"How long?"

"Three days." Bellamy wasn't in control of his own words or actions anymore. He was too confused by his own mind to even be aware of what was going on.

"Three days is a long time," the soldier observed, tracing a scar on Bellamy's chest with his finger. "I bet they made you scream."

Bellamy whimpered.

"Tell me where Wanheda is or you'll scream again."

Bellamy kept his mouth shut, eyes on the wicked tools on the table. The hut was dark, but light form the torch glinted off the metal.

"Did they kill all your other friends? Is that why you're back? I hope they died in front of you."

Bellamy shook his head. "She's alive. They'll come for you, and you'll wish you'd never been born."

Fire exploded from the arrow wound in Bellamy's middle, and he screamed. They'd taken him down with that arrow, and after they'd tried to pull it out had simply snapped off the shaft, leaving the head buried deep.

"Tell me where to find Wanheda."

"No," he moaned, head spinning.

"You're going to suffer. And when we do, we'll kill her right in front of you."

"No," Bellamy said again, throat hoarse from screaming. "I won't."

"He loves her," a voice from the shadows said.

"You can't," Bellamy was sobbing now. "You won't kill her."

"You chose the wrong one," the man in front of Bellamy said. "He won't give us the water. Not for her."

"He will. It just takes time."

Something huge slammed into Bellamy's side and he heard a crack. He gasped for air.

"It wasn't enough. You'll pay, for everything."

"Wanheda," Bellamy whimpered.

"Your precious Wanheda is ours."

A smash and crack on the other side. Bellamy gagged on blood.

"What's this?"

"He's drowning!" London?

"Hold his arm." Clarke.

"You can't," he gasped, trying to get enough air. "Go. Run!"

Hands on his side, tracing a small line, the horrible piercing pain as something hot plunged deep into his side.

"Stop! Please, stop!"

"Hold still."

"Let me go!"

"Drowning. Blood from internal damage."

"Again. He'll break eventually."

"My wife! I watched her suffer!"

"Where is Wanheda?"

A door slammed, a voice other than Bellamy's yelled, "Stop!"

Bellamy, gasping for air as his vision blurred form the sudden light, pain burning every inch of his body, the smell of his own burnt flesh causing him to vomit.

"Bellamy. Bellamy, listen to me!"

"No. No, I won't. She's safe."

A hand on his shoulder, sending up a flair of pain from his broken arm. "Bellamy, it's Kane."

"I WON'T!" Bellamy cried, tears streaming down his face.

"Hey, shh, you don't have to do anything."

"Don't touch me," Bellamy begged. "Everything hurts. Please don't touch me."

The hand disappeared. The person from the shadows stepped out. "Bellamy." A woman. "Bellamy, focus on my voice. You need to stop fighting. You've already injured yourself. Please stop."

Injured himself? Arkadia had done that. Ice Nation had done that. Clarke had—Clarke. "Clarke," he sobbed.

"Clarke is safe at home," the woman's voice again. Lying to him. If he revealed anything, she would be dead.

"Bellamy." The man's voice was back. "Bellamy, listen to me. You won. Clarke is safe, thanks to you. You're in Arkadia. It's me, Marcus Kane. Look at me."

Bellamy blinked rapidly but recognized no one. Instead, his eyes focused on the table in front of him. His hands, secured with a black plastic zip-tie, shirt hanging from his hands and covered in vomit.

"Bellamy," the woman. "Bellamy, I need you to breathe slowly. You're hyperventilating. You need to breathe before you pass out."

His wrist, why did it look like that? Were wrists supposed to bend that way? He wasn't sure anymore.

"Bellamy," Kane's no-nonsense voice. "This is Abby Griffin, Clarke's mom. She's a doctor, remember? Let her help you."

"No, no, no," Bellamy muttered. "It's Clarke and London. Clarke and London are doctors." Panicked, he struggled to escape. Someone stabbed him in the wrist and twisted the blade.

Bellamy lost consciousness.


	43. Chapter 40: Mission Complete

Hey all! Happy Easter! I'm very sorry for the long wait, but hopefully the length (and content) of this chapter will help ease the sting of that memory.

Thank you for all the positive reviews, and especially to Guest who had some good suggestions on how to fix up the previous chapter to make it a little clearer. I'm super busy right now, but I'm going to be using those suggestions for the future and to hopefully tweak that chapter a bit when I have time.

And to everyone else, I love to hear from you, and do appreciate your suggestions. I have a general idea where the next two chapters will be going, but after that it's back to one-shots, and I am very open to suggestions (or any other feedback you might have).

Enjoy!

* * *

"Kent says all he did is punch Bellamy in the face," Kane said, keeping his voice low.

"The angle of the break in his wrist suggests it was self-inflicted from struggling with the cuffs," Abby confirmed. "Do you know what happened?"

"Bellamy approached the gate saying he wanted to talk to you. The guards put him in the room, presumably for me to talk to him, but no one told me that he was there. Kent found out and went there to punish Bellamy for Kent's wife's suffering," Kane revealed. "When he removed Bellamy's shirt, he discovered all that." Kane gestured to the scars covering Bellamy's exposed chest. The kid, no, young man, lay on a cot in medical, apparently sleeping. "He assumed it was from Grounders and started to taunt Bellamy about it. Every time he touched a different scar, Bellamy acted like Kent had actually hurt him. Kent said Bellamy was saying things that didn't make any sense."

"Kent must have triggered something," Abby guessed. "I wouldn't be surprised if Bellamy has PTSD from whatever it is that happened to him, if he didn't have it already. It would have been like he was reliving everything all over again. That's why he was so hysterical when we got to him."

"Poor kid. He doesn't deserve that."

"No, he doesn't. But he's not a kid anymore."

"He's not," Kane acknowledged. "How's he doing?"

"He's fine, just resting. I splinted his wrist, but it'll need to be set once the swelling goes down. That will probably be in a few days."

"He has a Grounder brand," Kane observed.

"They must have joined the coalition." She looked away from the young man laying on the cot and back at Kane. "Why do you think he's here?"

"To talk to you, according to him."

"What about?"

"Maybe they need medical help," Kane suggested. "It must be serious if he chose to come back here."

Abby shook her head. "I doubt it was for medical help." She gently pushed Bellamy's arm aside. "See that little scar there? It's from a chest tube. Clarke knows what she's doing."

Bellamy mumbled something and moved his arm back.

"A chest tube?" Kane echoed.

Abby nodded. "You insert it through the chest wall near the lung to drain fluid. My guess is severe pneumonia or, more likely, internal bleeding from whatever trauma he went through."

"Clarke did that?" Kane marveled.

Abby nodded proudly. "None of the others would have even known what a chest tube is."

"He's been through hell since they left," Kane realized.

"If Clarke went as far as inserting a chest tube in a patient who wasn't sedated, I'd say he's been through worse than that."

"I can't help but wonder why he came back," Kane said. "It _had_ to be big. If they didn't come back when he needed a chest tube, something is going on."

Abby sighed. "Honestly, it scares me," she confessed. "I hope whatever Kent did to him doesn't keep him from telling us."

"At the very least, we can follow him back to where the other kids are."

"Let's just see what he has to say before we start making plans," Abby cautioned.

"But Abby, I thought you wanted to find Clarke," Kane objected.

"I do, but not in a way that will make her run again. Let's just—"

Bellamy lurched upward with a muffled cry of pain. He grasped his injured wrist and held it against himself, looking around frantically.

"Bellamy, stay calm," Kane warned.

"What happened?" Bellamy demanded. "Where's my shirt? Why does my wrist hurt?"

"I think Abby would be the best one to explain," Kane decided.

Abby sat across from Bellamy. "What do you remember?" she asked gently.

"I came here to talk to you. They said I had to talk to Kane first and put me in a room. Then a guy came in and said I made his wife suffer, and I was going to pay. That's it." A lie, but he didn't know how much they'd already figured out.

"I took your shirt," Abby said, deciding to start by answering his questions. "It was dirty. We'll bring you a new one. As for your wrist, you broke it fighting to escape. I splinted it, but it will need to be set in a few days when the swelling is down."

"Clarke can do it," Bellamy stated.

"It needs to be set in a few days," Abby repeated. "Is she close enough to do that?"

Bellamy didn't answer.

"The guards didn't report any supplies taken from you," Abby pushed on. "If they did take something, Kane will get it back."

Bellamy shook his head. He wasn't about to tell them he'd hidden the supplies in the woods, nor would he admit Clarke was _not_ just a few days away. If he did, they'd make him stay, and he needed to get back.

"Bellamy," Abby said gently, "I'm trying to make sure your injury is treated properly. I'm not trying to get information from you to find out where your camp is. I assume you have one and everyone is safe?"

He nodded.

"And Clarke?" Abby saw his eyes soften at the name.

"She's fine," Bellamy confirmed.

"Kent said you were worried about her," Kane prompted.

"I didn't tell him anything," Bellamy objected.

Abby glanced at Kane before continuing. "I have a theory about what happened to you," she revealed. "Would you like me to explain, or would you rather not know?"

Bellamy eyed her suspiciously. "Why do I not want to know?"

"It could be painful and embarrassing to think about."

"And why should I?"

"It will probably happen again, and could be a danger to yourself and those around you. You already broke your wrist."

"Tell me."

"Ok. Bear with me." Abby took a deep breath. "Those scars, what are they from?"

"From when Kane had me shock lashed," Bellamy said bitterly.

"No, the other ones," Abby corrected gently but firmly.

"Why does that matter?"

"Bellamy." Kane, scolding him for acting like a child.

"Rogue Ice Nation," Bellamy replied without feeling. "They wanted to find Clarke."

"And you wouldn't tell them," Abby guessed. When he nodded, she said, "So they beat you."

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"Three days."

"And then?"

"Then I couldn't talk from screaming. Either I was delirious, or they thought I was dead, I don't know which. So they left me in the woods. Our scouts brought me to Clarke."

"Where she did that," Abby guessed, pointing to his side.

"The chest tube? Yeah, that and a lot of other stuff." He glanced at Kane, then back at Abby. "Why does that matter?"

"Do you have nightmares?" The moment she asked, Abby saw it in Bellamy's eyes: he was shutting down, locking her out. "Please, Bellamy, I need to know this so I don't tell you the wrong thing. I promise I won't tell anyone what you say, and Kane won't either. We're just trying to help you."

"Sometimes."

She frowned, confused.

"About Mount Weather," he continued. "We all have them."

"And what the Ice Nation did to you?"

He nodded silently.

"Bellamy, I think you have what we doctors call PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Has Clarke mentioned this to you?"

He shook his head.

"Does she know what you just told me?"

"Except for what happened today."

"Back before the Ark, PTSD used to be common among soldiers coming home from wars. A sound, or smell, or object, or a _touch_ would trigger horrible memories, and they often felt like they were reliving them."

"I don't understand." He did.

"What Abby is trying to say," Kane spoke up, "is that when Kent touched your scars, he made you relive what the grounders did to you. That's what happened, isn't it?"

Bellamy didn't react.

"Bellamy, what are you thinking?" Abby asked after he'd been quiet for some time.

"I need to get back to Clarke."

"You might want to tell her," Abby suggested carefully. "She's the doctor at your camp I assume, and this is something she should know. I know you might not want to tell her, but you should."

Nothing from Bellamy.

"She's a doctor, Bellamy. She's not going to hold it against you or see you differently because of it."

Bellamy stood up angrily. "Damn it, I _know_ she's a doctor. At the moment she knows more about me than you do, after I almost died."

"You should—"

"I do," Bellamy cut her off. "She might not, but I do. I'm not who I was, and nothing you say can change that."

Abby had nothing to say. He wouldn't talk to her, she knew that. All she could hope for was that he would eventually talk to Clarke.

Bellamy turned toward the door. "It's been nice, but I have to get back."

"Before you go, perhaps we could talk about a political bond between our camps," Kane suggested.

Bellamy shook his head. "Not without Clarke and the Royal Court here."

"Royal Court?" Kane asked, fighting a smile.

"Our advisors." Bellamy glanced around. "I assume I'm not a prisoner?"

"No. You paid for your crimes long ago. What Kent did was wrong, and he will be punished accordingly."

Bellamy looked directly at the Chancellor. "Don't have him shock lashed."

Kane was surprised. "I won't, if that's what you really want."

"It is. Do I get a shirt?"

Abby handed him one. "Before you go, can I ask why you came?"

He nodded. "I came to ask you something." He wasn't very inclined to do so anymore, after everything, but he didn't want to waste a trip either.

"And that is?"

"First you should know we have a camp. It has houses, and a mess hall, and Clarke has a hospital, and we joined the coalition." He started to raise his hand to show the brand, but a shooting pain made him think better of it, and he went on. "There's no reason to think we won't be successful. We're busy, but I think…I _know_ we're happy at the end of the day."

"I'm glad, but I don't understand," Abby admitted.

"I do," Kane said. "Let him continue, Abby. He's been going over this for days."

"I came here to ask you for something," Bellamy continued, trying to reassemble the pieces he'd put together on his long walk. "Clarke would never ask me to, but I know she still loves you, which is why I came anyway. It's a question that wouldn't normally be directed to you, but Clarke's father, like my mother, was floated, and you're the only one left to ask."

Understanding dawned on Abby, and her shaking hand flew to her mouth.

Bellamy took a deep breath. "I'm not here to ask your permission to marry Clarke," he revealed. "I think we both know that would be ridiculous. Your answer to that question wouldn't change what she decides to do. I'm here to tell you that I love your daughter more than anything, and I can provide for her, and I have reason to believe she loves me too, though why I can't being to understand. What I'm asking for is your blessing."

"After severing ties with Arkadia, you came all the way here to ask for my blessing?"

Bellamy nodded.

Abby started to reach for him, but Bellamy pulled away from her hug. "You have it," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "You have my blessing."


	44. Chapter 41: I Already Knew

Thanks so much for the kindly reviews! I'm trying hard to keep this one going, but at this point I'm kind of at a loss. I want to go back to one-shots again, just giving glimpses into their lives at Camp Bellarke. I'm open to suggestions!

* * *

In the end, Bellamy's bargain paid off. Kane and Abby respected him enough for what he'd done to let him return to Camp Bellarke unfollowed. He turned down their offers of help and supplies, stubbornly insisting his people were fine on their own.

Bellamy did, however, leave with Abby's ring hanging around his neck.

Clarke was cleaning a room after treating a rash when the door slammed shut. She'd sent London home for the night, and ever since the wind from the rainstorm had been hurling things against he building. Clarke was inclined to just say the night.

"Hello?" she called, not expecting an answer except for the howling of the wind. She headed down the hall to see if someone had entered. "Hello? Is someone there?" Clarke rounded the corner to Bellamy's smirk. He was soaking wet, dripping mud and water all over her clean floor, and his arm was in a sling—but he was there.

"Hey Princess."

"Bellamy?"

"Has it been so long that you don't recognize me?" he teased. "I came right to you, just like I said I would."

"I just," she moved to hug him, then stopped. "What happened to your arm?"

"I broke my wrist," Bellamy confessed. "It was my own fault, and I can explain, but your mom said it needed to be set a few days ago."

"My _mom_?"

Bellamy nodded. "I can explain everything, but right now I'm soaking wet and cold and my wrist is overdue on medical attention and—"

Clarke laughed. "You sound like a little kid. Come into one of the rooms, and I'll take care of you."

Bellamy followed obediently, but when Clarke shut the door behind them, he panicked. "Can you not close that?"

"Aren't you planning to change?" Clarke asked, digging in a cabinet for something. "You really don't need to add hypothermia to your list of experiences, and I don't want to add it to my list of things I've saved you from."

"I know, I just, closed doors and small rooms…"

Clarke opened it. "Nobody will be in this late anyway. Here." She tossed him something shaped like a robe. "I'll find you real clothes later, but right now the idea is to get you out of that."

"What _is_ this?" Bellamy asked, holding it up with one hand.

"London and I call them hospital cloaks," Clarke explained sheepishly. "We've been working on them when we have time. They button loosely down the back, or in front depending on how you put it on. IT makes it easier to treat and examine while still allowing the patient some privacy."

"This would've been great when you took my clothes and made me stay in only my boxers for weeks," Bellamy complained.

"That's sort of what inspired—do you need help?" She'd been watching Bellamy struggle one-handed with his wet shirt.

"Yes," he said from between gritted teeth, head hanging so as not meet her eyes.

"It's ok to need help," Clarke reminded him as she eased his shirt off, trying not to jar his arm too much.

"I know. I just, I'd rather do things myself."

"I know." Clarke gestured for him to duck, so she could pull the shirt over his head. HE did so, and when he straightened Clarke's eyes fell on his scarred body. She gasped quietly.

"Eyes up here, Clarke," Bellamy teased gently, using his good hand to tilt her chin up. "I'm ok, remember?"

Clarke nodded. "Do you need help…?" she gestured again.

Bellamy chuckled. "I can manage my pants this time," he assured her.

Once Bellamy was out of his wet clothes and into a hospital robe, he found himself seated on a stool.

"Tell me about the wrist."

"I broke it trying to get out of restraints. Your mom splinted it, but she said it would need to be set…two days ago."

"She said that two days ago?"

"It should have been _set_ two days ago," he corrected.

"That's going to hurt," Clarke warned. "A lot."

"Already does," Bellamy countered

"You'll explain about my mom"

"After you set my wrist."

Clarke pulled a few mysterious things out of the cabinets and handed Bellamy a piece of wood. "Bite down on this and try not to move." He did. Clarke tried to be as gentle as possible. Eventually, Bellamy just requested that she get it over with, so she did the work quickly, eliciting a muffled groan from Bellamy. Once she'd secured it as best she could, Clarke sat back.

Bellamy didn't say anything. He stayed hunched over his arm, hoping she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. He felt small arms go around his shoulders, and suddenly his head was resting on Clarke's shoulder. He took a shuddering breath and let the pain race through his body, eventually dulling to a point where he thought he could talk without losing it. He pulled away.

"Well?"

"Well that hurt."

"I warned you."

"I know you did. No kiss for my bravery? Or the pain?"

"Tell me about my mom and how you broke your wrist after you promised you'd be fine," she countered.

"It was my fault. That's an entirely different thing I have to tell you."

"Start talking, Rebel King. Where did you see my mom?"

"Arkadia. I saw her, Kane, two guards, and a guy named Kent who hates my guts. He blames his wife's suffering on my decision to steal water for the 100."

"Our decision."

"I got there, and they cuffed me and put me in a room where I was supposed to wait for Kane. Then Kent came in and laid into me for the water, and all I wanted to do was talk to your mom to get her blessing but Kent went crazy and I woke up in medical and it was Abby, not you—"

"Her blessing?" Clarke interrupted. "This whole time you weren't on a supply run, you were visiting my mom?"

Bellamy nodded, then ducked his head. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, and after his discovery at Arkadia, there was a lot Clarke needed to know before he told her about the reason for his trip. "She gave it," he revealed hoarsely.

"She gave what?"

"Your mom gave me her blessing to ask you to marry me."

Clarke gave an uncharacteristic squeal and threw her arms around him. "Yes!"

"No."

"What?"

"Before you say yes, you need to know how I broke my wrist." He pulled out of her embrace and pushed her back.

Clarke sat, looking confused. "Look, I know you said you'd come back ok, but I also know there are risks out there, so it's ok. I forgive you. I don't see how your broken wrist—"

"There's something about me you need to know."

"Bellamy—"

"Clarke, this isn't easy. Please just let me talk."

"Alright."

"It's not the nightmares. I know you're the one who sends the guys to wake me."

Clarke opened her mouth, then shut it.

"The door needing to be open, the wrist, Clarke, I don't really know what happened. One minute I was trying to talk down Kent, and the next I was back in the hut with the Rogue Ice Nation men. It was real and I felt it and heard it, and your mom says I broke my wrist trying to get away." Bellamy wouldn't meet Clarke's eyes. "I don't want to know what I would have done if I hadn't been restrained. Your mom, she had a name for it, for what happened—"

"PTSD," Clarke finally spoke. "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I think a lot of us have it, to some degree. Why is this supposed to change my mind?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Bell, look at me." When he lifted his head, Clarke saw tears in his eyes. She suddenly realized he was genuinely afraid of what would happen next. "What do _you_ want?"

"I want to promise to love you forever. I want you to be mine and only mine, and I want to be only yours. I want you to live in my cabin, and have my kids, and be my wife. I want to come home to you every night instead of coming here. But I don't want to hurt you."

"Ok then."

"What?"

"Whether we're married or not, we'll hurt each other. We care too much about each other not to."

"But—"

"I knew you had PTSD."

"You did?"

"Not to the extent that you just told me, but yes, I did. Do you honestly think I don't know what the nightmares, constant glancing around a room, and the inability to relax and not work long physically-intensive hours adds up to?"

Bellamy hadn't known himself.

"It doesn't scare me. I love you even with all that."

"It scares _me_ ," he confessed.

"I know. But now you won't be alone. Now give me the ring."

"How did you—"

"I took your shirt off, Bellamy. How was I _not_ supposed to see my mother's ring?"

Bellamy muttered something under his breath but handed it over.

" _Now_ you get a kiss," Clarke said, leaning forward to give him a peck on the lips.

"That's it?" Bellamy complained. "After all that, that's it?"

"If you think you deserve more, get it yourself."

Bellamy grasped her waist and pulled her flush against himself. Then, he kissed her long and slow and lingering.

Clarke rested her head on his shoulder. "I love you." When Bellamy chuckled, she could feel it in his chest.

"That's good, since you're wearing a ring I gave you, Princess."


End file.
